I went to a barbeque last night. I met a man named Paul. We were the only men there and we bonded at the grill.
Paul and I got to talking and he told me he was in the seafood business in Vegas for twenty years. That didn’t sound sketchy at all. I was instantly intrigued. He said he had stories and I believed him. He wanted to be a writer but he kept making excuses for not writing. He was from Minnesota. I asked if he knew Bob Dylan. It’s my standard question for people I meet from Minnesota.
“Well, yeah, my dad knew him really well,” he said.
I wasn’t expecting that answer. It took me by surprise.
“Do you want to meet him? Give me your phone number.”
I froze up. I’m not sure why. Nothing came out of my mouth and in an instant the subject changed. Paul’s mood changed too. He seemed to take offense to my inaction.
It’s the second time I’ve blown a chance to meet Bob Dylan.
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