"If you live in New York, you’re bound to end up crying in public eventually; there just aren’t enough private places."
Look at Me, I’m Crying - NYTimes.com
But even the unpretty ones, snuffling, their faces like balled napkins, are mesmerizing. There is something beautiful about a disarmed stranger. We usually only get to witness that kind of vulnerability with friends or family, when something — sympathy or apology — is expected of us. Public criers ask nothing; they don’t need anyone to take care of them.
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