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Short Story: Interlude to a Departure

“The fire escape is rusty,” Henry said.

“It always had been since we started sitting out here at age thirteen,” Jess responded.

“Five years on, other things have changed. The rising sun is threatening to take you. You’ll go, I’ll never see you again.”

“I won’t forget you.”

“Is what they always say.”

Poem: The Crossroads

Down in the Mississippi delta
The trees weep on the wind
Momma’s tell their babies
They’re weeping for souls
Of those who lived in sin

The ramblers and wanders
Who were lost not looking to be found
Traveling to the ends of the earth
Found themselves discovered
At a four point crossroads