They were not uncommon in those days. And when she drove, those rare moments of solitude provided her with the solace of unburdening her heart from those tears. As she navigated through those mounds of stone left on the road for some construction, little children running around unattended, cars honking behind her, her eyes had already welled up. Sometimes the tears rolled down her cheek, sometimes they refused, unwilling to take the plunge.
And then, foggy eyed and deafened by the protest of the honking vehicles behind her, she braked when she saw the little puppy jump on the road. The honking increased beyond comprehension: an incessant, approaching sound. She turned to see a man driving by, notably agitated, mouth irate profanities at her. And he was gone before she could get a hold of what was happening. Gone. Didn't he see her misty eyed face? The tears were still there. This time they took the leap, and slid down her cheeks before they made her shirt wet.
And she drove on, helpless.