HEAR YE! HEAR YE! My town-crying career is going nowhere and I’m leaving the industry. I ran into Bertram the other day and found out that he’s town-crying in Canterbury now. Canterbury! From the Tales! Bertram started town-crying at the same time as me, and I’m still here in Skunthorpe. Sure, I know that before you get your big break, you have to put up with shit for a while. Literally—because the audience will throw shit at you if they don’t like you.
I’ve been town-crying for a decade and I’m piss poor at it. By which I mean the only thing I technically own is one chamber pot. And that keeps attracting the feral dogs. I should quit and become a cobbler, like my dad always wanted. Every time I would talk about my dreams, he would cough up blood. Though that was anytime I would talk about anything. He used to live in Lake Ass. At least I’m trying to do something different with the form. I’m an observational town crier. I’m not a hack.
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