BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

53 - bob dylan ³

Another Dylan imagine for the lovely Sofsims ! I kinda went crazy with this one, so I hope you enjoy. For full immersion, I recommend listening to Magnet and Steel by Walter Egan.
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SEE DYLAN IN CONCERT 2NITE!
TICKETS SOLD AT THE GATES
8PM – 10PM
BART'S SQUARE & GARDENS

You wrinkled your nose at the poster haphazardly taped to a streetlamp in distaste. Bob Dylan was everywhere in New York, it seemed. You weren't ever able to escape him. There were concerts here, records there. His name was plastered halfway across the city, for God's sake! It seemed like a little much.

Too much, in fact, you thought moodily upon catching sight of a pair of girls striding down the opposite street cradling Blonde on Blonde to their chests. Typical. As usual, you averted your eyes to Bob's offending image, pretending as if you'd never heard of him. Some nights, you wished that were the truth. But it was impossible to walk two feet in Greenwich Village without bumping into Bob's likeness on a poster or coming across a plethora of his albums in the shops.

Frankly, you hated it.

Your hatred wasn't borne from having unique taste like that of your stuck up college friends who listened to nothing but Mozart. Truthfully, you enjoyed folksy music and especially rock and blues. It melted your heart in ways that no other genre could. With Bob around, it was too difficult to even try listening to anything else when all that was playing on everyone's radio was Like a Rolling Stone.

At times, your hatred grew so hard and stony that you simply grew numb. You could feel emotion seep from your bones just because your body had become so used to the roiling fire and burning flame that came with your hot temper. The most you could come up with now was a barely disguised look of disgust, as you often did, at the mere mention of Bob's name.

You didn't want to be this way. Quaking with bitterness and rage so thick it choked you on its way out, you had turned into rather a difficult person to be around. All of these constant reminders of Dylan all around you only served to increase your foul mood. There were many nights when you contemplated moving entirely. The only thing stopping you was your obligation to the apartment that you shared with a roommate.

Currently, you were on your way back home from a grocery run. You tried to avoid them more and more these days since Bob's outpouring of fame that had let loose a beast across the better part of the United States. Unfortunately for you, the rock-paper-scissors battle that you fought valliantly in was inevitably lost to Julie's expertly placed scissors, and now you were forced out onto the streets.

The sky rumbled ominously with the promise of a summer storm as you picked up your pace to try and make it home in time. Your apartment was nearly six blocks away and you were already feeling the prickling of needle-thin raindrops across your skin. Pressing your paper bags close to your body, you soldiered on.

As the minutes ticked, the storm grew worse. The thunder roared in the back of your ears and echoed down the empty roads, causing you to burst into a jog in attempts to make your journey shorter. It was no use. Before you knew it, the sky had opened up entirely, letting loose a torrential downpour of rain that soaked you to the bone in a matter of seconds.

You groaned, clutching at the dampening paper in your arms. The groceries inside were precious. Milk, eggs, bread, and cheese. The only meager staples that you could afford after working at a small record store for weeks on end. You couldn't bear to see them become washed away in the storm, but it was inevitable.