One day, as I was returning to my car in the parking ramp behind the city court building in Philly, I heard some early Dylan coming out of the attendant's office--I stuck my head in, and there was a young black man, with the hat, the baggies, the shades and the look--we started to chat, and he spent the next twenty minutes playing me his favorite Dylan cuts, stuff like "who killed davey moore"> and "the lonesome death of hattie carroll" and several of the bootleg talking blues, and then this guy pulled out his note book and started reading me raps that he had written--

I swear to you, he had a crew and they were doing spots at the Showcase off of 52nd street, and the whole deal, and this guy knew dylan upside down and inside out--The thing is, that he said that he was not alone--