How much for the tears?

Black. It was always black. The art was to blend in so that they never really remember your face. Though, that’s as far as blending in goes. With this job, she had to be expressive too. Emotion was key. The better you are at letting them go, the further you go in life.


Her cries were getting louder. You knew immediately someone had died. Someone important, someone loved. Now, if you knew Edith you would not care about this any more. Edith cried daily, maybe twice a day, maybe more. This was her living. Today she was at Mr. Schulmann’s funeral. She had never seen Mr. Schulmann before. She didn’t consider it a loss. Today her tears had to seem much more real. They were paying her at the end of the wake. The tinge of sadness spread clearly as she thought about keeping this charade up for any longer than an hour. 


That paid her well. Maybe, she will take a cab to the next funeral. 

How much for the tears?

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