Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I remember reading somewhere, vaguely, that Bob Dylan once attempted to make a go of it peddling bespoke wooden legs.

Handcrafted prostheses, to be more precise.

Is there even a splinter of truth in it, does anybody know ? Or is the tale entirely apocryphal ?

I admire the idea of it, the screwball absurdity of the very thought; the monocular attention to detail.

Had Dylan not gone stellar on the back of a purloined, well-timed lyric or two, I can envision our sage hobbling into such a entepreneurial cul-de-sac. Squirreled away; ornately skulking in the sawdust of his folly.

Had Zimmerman not come over all electric, we might have had prosthetic:

A rabid mob on pogo sticks on the fringe of a motorcycle accident. Baying for blood as the carpenter hops in the wings, knock-knock-knockin' and chalking on his board.

Ib Sibling