If someone sends me a Bob Dylan “deep cut” after this, I swear I’ll light my hair on fire.
I tried to pinpoint when exactly I started pretending to love Bob Dylan. I racked my brain for the boy who first put on “Like a Rolling Stone” and stared at me with misty eyes.
Then I realized: There was no boy. It was all the boys. Every boy.
Every boy would sit me down and be like, “Hi, precious baby. I know you probably haven’t heard of this super obscure songwriter, so let me put on an album that will change your life.”
Then they would put on Highway 61 Revisited or The Times They Are A-Changin’ or The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan and have a “moment.” The moment would go like this: