I sat down in the booth and unfurled my silverware. My plate was piled high. I was ready to dig in like Homer Simpson at The Frying Dutchman. Then I glanced over at the booth across the aisle and spotted a man with his head slightly lowered. He was either looking down at the buttons on his shirt or saying a prayer. When I saw his lips slightly moving, I knew it was the latter.

He was with a woman and a little boy. All three bowed their heads reverently as he said a short blessing. I couldn't quite hear exactly what he was saying among the din of people chattering and the tinkling of silverware, but I got the gist of it. The word "thankful" was in there somewhere.

Suddenly I felt like an ungrateful glutton. And, surprisingly, a little jealous. It seemed so endearing, as if it were the only polite thing to do. Just saying, "Hey, thanks, man." I, too, wanted to say hey thanks, but I didn't have a man to say thanks to.

How nice it must be, I thought, to walk around believing you've got an invisible friend, one you can dial up any time and say, "Thanks for the chow." Or, "Listen, man, things aren't going to well, can you help me out here a sec?" Or simply drop in for no reason and say, "Hey, dude, how's it goin?"

Lucky bastards.

I want an invisible friend. Someone to watch over me. But the best blessing I could offer up would be along the lines of: "Oh heavenly Father, whom you know full well I don't believe exists, thanks for the lovely meal anyway...although, I must say, with all due respect, the meatloaf is a tad on the dry side."

If I were overheard mumbling that in the old family feedbag, well, I might not burn in hell, but it sure would burn as I skidded across the parking lot when they threw my ass outa there.

From Brother Joe's Brother Stu:

Howdy Biff,

It's morning and I just woke from a dream. I was talking to Bob Dylan in a school hallway...the young Dylan circa Don't Look Back. Several people were in hallway but they did not seem to realize or recognize that Dylan was there. I asked if he knew of the song Biff Rose Knows Bob Dylan's Nose Blows. His facial reaction told me he had heard it but he said only that he had "heard of it" through some friends. I then asked what he thought of the song. Dylan's manager (not Grossman in the dream) nodded at him and said,"it's ok". Dylan proceeded to mumble an unintelligible response, all the while walking toward me. He reached out his hand and placed it on my cheek...leaned in and kissed my nose! And that was it.

Stu

From Biff:

Hi Stu...I can interpret that dream...first it's an incredibly CLEAR dream....simple...and simply written out in e-amil for a guy just waking up... revealing in the part about yes Dylan heard the song...but no he only heard OF it...hmmmm......that corresponds with...when asked in Chronicles why he changed his name...he answered...and this is printed..meaning he printed this in his own auto-bio..."Well I'll tell it to you right straight...." the PrincePull arises...(I am a man of PrincePull as in the Prince ..these prints of peace will pull..) in contrast to ELTON who is a man of PrincessPull).....the major PrincePull is...don't ever trust ANYONE who says "Trust me"..that's the hard line...and NEVER trust anybody who says..."well I'll tell it to you right straight" ..cuz that means they weren't telling it to you right straight all along and that they are just setting you up...but then you knew that didn;t you....Dylan's kissing you on the nose means he's really in a Stu.....about....what nose blows kisses.....now don't you go blowing it, Stu, being as you live in the MIDDLE of a stu with that daughter of yours speaking perfect Chinese at age three and you tell her I said so......ma fong yo....now then...I was just thinking of "women" as I descended the staircase here at the N.O. Public library with my stash of New Yorkers to wait my turn for the computers and how I have to reveal my relationship with "women".....the Chinese included...plus their noses.....and blowing them kisses...and how Dylan is such a ...as we used to say "s,a,h," in old French..a square ass hole..the opening song on his latest album Modern Times is a love song to Alicia Keys....how much more adventurous is Bowie with that long tall sally look neat she's got everything uncle john needs from Somalia..Iman....and I write of the tension between my own Round Brown Sugar.("Biff you gonna lose yo' sense of rhythm you keep phuckin' wit dem white bitsches...") and the "whitebitsches" being my six yr. old granddaughter Emma Rose in San Diego....how she cuddles and asks ..at age five..."Biff, is that her true love?" about the girl kissing the ugly guy in the mask in Phantom of the Opera....prepare yourself, Stu for when Eowyn (sp?) is five, six and you need quick answers to questions in black and white...Alicia to Bob may be seen as that li'l pickaninny he has paraded before his throne in Masked and Anonymous to sing How many miles must a man go down...at that point I interrupt..."Hey Bob..a man mustn't go down...ELTON must go down....it's  a PrincePull of life..I mean a PrincessPull.....Elton is Elvis's successor....one is macho man for his mama...one is mama man for his macho...it's so subtle that movie Masked and Anonymous...Dylan's raging subconscious jealousy of Jimi Hendrix when the Rolling Stone reviewer ( Jeff Bridges) says, "You weren't even invited to Woodstock...well I guess Jimi Hendrix is the last man standing.....so Dylan "sits" as "massa" of the plantation and has li'l Alicia come before him in these Modern Times.....

Brother Joe:

Too many words, Biff. Edit that by 30%. Anyway, I thought we were talking about me...