Wendy was emphatic that I play this request. She brought me home-made manocotti in a sauce that had stewed all day. She stayed all night.
I asked, "Why this Dylan song?"
"Just because," she said, holding me.
"By Dylan or the Byrds?" I asked.
She pulled back. "Dylan!" she asserted, as if this should not have been questioned.
I wish she could join the gang at Newport nineteen sixty four. I missed it, as I was busy being born.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
Wendy: Yes, he's insanely hot. We're all still trying to unravel that.