Dusk All Over

There was a bar where my friend, Emily, and I liked to stop whenever we were hanging out in Adams Morgan/DC. We liked it because it had a jukebox that played Procol Harum's "Whiter Shade of Pale." There was a pool table, a table table, some chairs, and a few feet of dance floor beside the music. We would go in there to play that song and take a few turns 'round the floor.

One loud and crowded night, I find myself dancing with a jazzy old-timer.
He leans into my ear at one point and howls, "Ooo baby! You smell like must-ah-Rrr!"
I look at him, embarrassed and shocked, and holler back, "Did you just say I smell like MUSTARD?"
"No baby!" he looks offended. And confused. "I say you smell like MUSK ALL OVER!"

Oh. Right.
Thanks.




(Dusk All Over)