Mistake

Beth doesn't usually involve herself in the war of a relationship. Too many casualties. She's seen them. Today she has reached a crossroad. She stops at a gas station on her way to her graduation. Mr. Lame Line is interested. He wants to get to know Beth, but Beth has a response to any request for a date. "Hold on," she would respond with a finger in the air and her other hand fishing in her purse for her trusty Morgan. She would rub the silver coin as if it were a lucky rabbit's foot and toss it heavenward. Two pairs of eyes watch it flip on it's climb up and then the same eyes reverse and watch as the the silver coin lose momentum and travel hellward hitting the ground with a thud. "Tails. You lose." The suitor would be brushed off with a view of Beth's back as she amble away. But today, as Mr. Lame Line stood before her in his wrinkled clothes and unruly hair gleaming a perfect white rack at her, she saw something underneath. He was like a fine wine that had been poured in a paper cup. He stood on one side of the crossroad and she on the other. She reached into her purse and cast the dice.