Covid-19 Diary, epilogue: Everything is Future.

I leave work early. It’s raining. I listen to Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited. The lyrics stun me; I feel like I’m hearing them for the first time. The sky is gray. The streets are grayer. The earth is waking up from its wintry slumber; there’s a brown, still-dead look to things. I drive down 41 onto the Edens. Traffic is light. Bob Dylan is singing about the 1960s in all his poetic anger, his lyrical indignation, his puckish delight. I hear “Ballad of the Thin Man” with awe.

“There’s something happening here,” he sings, “but you don’t know what it is.”

Wherever we find ourselves, Dylan got there first.

My thoughts drift to Phil.

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