Friday Fictioneers–one picture, one hundred words, countless different interpretations. For further explanation or to play along, go here.



© Claire Fuller

“Hello?” Tex squinted against the sun streaming off the rusty tin roof. A man with a beard blackened by either grease or tobacco appeared, hiking up a pair of pants that had seen better days. In the 1930s.

“What can I do ya for?” the man asked.

“Just directions back to the highway.”

“Ah,” the geezer looked disappointed. He sketched out directions on the back of a greasy envelope. Tex thanked him and turned to go when a young woman appeared at the screen door.

“Some water before I go?” Tex asked.

He didn’t need the man’s map after all.  





P.S. No one died this week, a rarity at this blog for FF.