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THE PRE-CRY by Anthony Venutolo

Don’’t worry, I always
had to say.
Don’’t worry. I’m the one
you can laugh at if all
this goes to shit.
Pour me a drink and
let’’s get down to brass
tacks. Anything so those
fucking tears wouldn’’t come.
For some reason, I always seemed
to stare at the left tear, easing
slowly down her cheek, glistening.
Gorgeous almost. The way it just
happened. The quickness of it.

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