Crossing roads:

Miss Virginy was up at the mini mart:

I waw standing there looking through the paper machine window:

Molassas man read, Americans are saving Haiti.

She was not pretty, done up in frumpy clothes carring an overstuffed shoulder bag, a round face bulging eyes, road weary she asked me for a cup of coffee.

She had come to paradise for work and had found none:

I surmise had she been attractive, a pretty girl to majoritys eyes, would not have been there to ask of me.

I watched her silhouette dissapear into the rising sun, blinding me

A cup of coffee in her pudgy hand. John G.