All I really want to do is, baby, to be friends with you...(Lennon and Dylan, Kenwood, 1966)

[writejohnlennon]

John was slouching inelegantly on the sofa of his living room, in his slippers and heavy glasses, lazily watching bad telly (summer repeats, pah. More like repeats of repeats, actually, his mind provided with an inner snort), feeling sleepy in the warm sun of the afternoon. John wasn't feeling very productive, that day. He chuckled aloud, this time

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[callmedylan]

The day had dragged by slowly for Bob, he had spent some of his morning attempting a recording but of course there was issues with his voice and the recording…It was all becoming a mess now and Bob for sure wasn’t digging it. The whole starting bit of his day was just rubbing him wrong. He was sure he’d already smoked a pack of cigarettes but what he was really craving was a joint. Now that recording was ‘over’ for the day he had nothing to do.

Well…he had told Lennon that he’d drop in and honestly that seemed to be the best option for him. What else was he gonna do? Go back to his hotel room or something just as mundane. Going down to see John would be something.

Making a snap decision he told his driver fellow to go to John Lennon’s place. There was a moment’s hesitation from the driver but after Bob asked Com on man what’s the problem? Huh, come on! The driver took him along a different route that led to Lennon’s place. He slipped out of the care quickly and lit a cigarette before going up to ring the doorbell. The chime went

[writejohnlennon]

John opened the door and found himself looking at Dylan slouching against the frame, sunglasses on as usual and hair wild, looking somewhat twitchy as he pulled on his cigarette. “Oi,” he greeted with a grin.”Was juss wonderin' whether you'd been too off yer rocker yesterday to remember you'd say you'd come by.” He stepped aside, looking above Bob's shoulder for fan girls. “Get in before the groupies spot you or you'll never hear the end of it.” No screaming teenage girls where in sight though, making John snort as he closed the door. “Ah, man, Beatlemania's not what it used to be.”

He smirked insolently but his eyes were genuine. John was rather pleased not to be harassed by fans all the time anymore. Sure, he often had to deal with them but they weren't screaming their heads off and talking gibberish through sobs anymore and that was a definite improvement. “Cuppa tea?” he proposed, nodding to Dylan and padding back to the kitchen.