The opening lines of "Crossroad Blues" once more emerge from the black, but this time, it's one of the original versions by Robert Johnson rather than the modern recreation we heard at the top of the hour. We fade up on a high overhead shot of a near-deserted moonlit rural crossroads, at the center of which kneels a gentleman with a guitar slung across his back. "Rosedale, Mississippi" next fades into view in the location card at the bottom of the screen before amending itself with "1930." So, all the losers in this episode got a full ten years, but Robert Johnson only managed to snag himself eight? "Rip off!" shrieks Raoul. The camera pulls a slow swoop down towards the gentleman before cutting all the way in on his hands as they scoop out a small hole from the gravel and dirt. The gentleman next picks up a small burlap bundle, twirls it around in his fingers for a moment, and drops it into the hole, scraping in dirt on top of it until it's completely buried. He then rises, clapping the dust from his hands, and waits expectantly. The camera tracks around his body to reveal a diminutive woman of color, clad in a white nightgown, standing in the blurry background of the shot. Should that white nightgown be worrying me? "Oh, please," Raoul snorts. "Those things are only deadly when worn by skinny little blonde white girls." Mr. Johnson eventually wheels around and gasps in shock when he finds this stranger standing behind him. "Holy..." he begins, cutting himself short before he finds himself cursing in front of this presumably innocent lass. "'Holy'?" the presumably innocent lass parrots with a smirk. Still smiling, she allows her eyes to flip blood-red for a moment before clearing them to twinkle, "Guess again."