Back in some day (mine) when I had been recently introduced to pot, I found me in my step-sister’s bedroom.

A guy came in (yes, he was a ‘guy’–older–I was twelve), and he pointed to a poster on the wall of my step-sis. (The poster was of Bob Dylan).

‘The guy’ asked me, or rather demanded of me:

“Do you know how Dylan writes his songs?”

“Nope,” I replied.

“He writes all the lyrics and then  cuts them out and then scatters them about and then pieces them back again and sends them off.

“Are you from England?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

And fuk YeaH!

I have read Melville.

I have read “Moby Dick”

“Call me Ismael”

(Yes. I am too sensitive)

And I’d Like to Stay That Way

Never mind.

(Oh, and I murdered a turkey over this–never mind that it was five years hence–just details)