My Suggested First Line For My Friend Seth's "History Of The Beatles" Final Paper, Which Will Be Graded By An Obvious Tom Waits Fetishist

I first “got” the Beatles in the middle of my fourth line of blow, three-quarters of the way through a bottle of four-dollar Shiraz, as a whore named Rosemary danced around our motel room naked, flailing her bruised arms to the sitar twangs of “Norwegian Wood.”