Aside from the aforementioned acid trip involving MTV's Oddities Series The Maxx, the CD I've chosen for the first in a series tonight reminds me of when Dylan was telling a story. Dylan was a big framed softy who had an anal retentive quirk for picking up and setting down his Marlboro Reds on any flat surface three times exactly. But he was great for stories.

We were all at the Leopard Lounge, an off campus house that had initially belonged to the small charter of Sigma Phi Epsilon. It was dank, and stained, and falling apart, as all frat houses should be. We were in the living room facing the stereo, its display the only light in the room next to cigarette cherries and the glint of a triple chamber bong being feverishly passed around. Most of us had sunken into whatever cushions were on the couch at the time, letting the tabs take their toll. The whole room was drowned out in pale blue from the CD player as Dylan inserted Wish You Were Here. Dylan's deep voice and fat yet elegant fingers were our only link to the tangible plane. We didn't hear the music, we saw it floating out to us, catching a ride on the trails of cigarette smoke that filled the lower half of the room. Dylan's tale was like the laser pointer at a business meeting; it pointed to all the things we were supposed to pay attention to but wouldn't if we were left on our own. The song's end the next one's beginning fused into an unbreakable train of thought; his voice was the wave that crashed over us. Our senses were being driven to climax and all we could do was open our eyes wider.

What was the story? Drag out your own copy and find out for yourself.

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