I spot Dylan's "Biograph" box-set in the library and decide to borrow it. It has been ages since I have heard funny, goofy stuff like "Jet Pilot". It is Bob doing stand-up comedy with a guitar.
The last time I heard the entire box-set end to end was in the final year of college. Or was it the third year? No, wait, it was the year Jonas Salk invented the polio vaccine. Long ago. It was the winter semester, the sunlight was kind and beautiful and my grades neither. All I did that semester was listen to this album, nurse a broken heart and scrounge for chump-change.
So I bring the CD over to the check-out desk. Like an efficient surgeon, the desk-lady cracks open the case and in it, we both see Disc 1. So far, so good. Then she opens that unwieldy flap-like thing on the back of the jewel-case holding Disc 1 and we both see Disc 3. So where is Number 2? Where the HELL is Number 2? Why won't Number 2 be around when I need it the most?
The desk-lady shrugs her shoulders and apologizes: "Sorry, but Disc 2 is missing". It has all the solemnity of "sorry, but we could not save your friend". Once again, Lady Fate had dealt me her trademark Rotten Cards. "Jet Pilot" is on Disc 2.
That Lady Fate, I tell you, you've got to watch her closely, cause she ain't no woman, she's a man.