Crossroad Blues

Etta Williams stumbled to the very center of the intersection. Tears rolling down her face, she bent slowly at the knees, wincing slightly as they came in contact with the gravel. Her wrinkled hands clawed at the dirt until a sizable hole was created. Reaching in her dress pocket, she clutched a small wooden box and shoved it from her pocket into the ground. She covered the box with dirt quickly, as if her nerves would fail her had she gone slowly. She stood again and looked around nervously.

“Hello Etta.”