It’s a fenced off part of the park where people can go and cry and they can’t be bothered by couples walking arm in arm, people walking dogs, tourists taking pictures, or students showing their parents around town. It’s just for crying.
The floor is hardened dirt. No grass. Nothing can grow, from the steady flow of salty tears to the soil.
The fence is lined with a tarp, seven feet tall, so that people can’t take photos from outside of the Run and post them on Facebook with captions like “Be thankful for what you have” or “You have to choose to be happy.”
Occasionally people will bump into each other and instinctively pull each other into an embrace, which can sometimes lead to that kind of sad, wet, crying kiss that people do when they’re so emotionally vulnerable that they can’t help but start making out. That’s what’s going to happen to you in a second.
While crying over just how empty and lost you’ve felt ever since you left school you’ll accidentally get in the way of a guy who’s finally letting himself cry for his dead Dad who was kind of a bastard. The two of you will apologize and try to step out of each other’s way but then your arms will reach out and you’ll step into each other’s bodies and your cheeks will touch, mixing the tears there, then you’ll move your faces just an inch and your mouths will be on each other. That’s when you’ll feel the hands on you.
“Let’s go,” the Cry Run attendant will say as he hustles you through the gate. “You got the rest of the park for that.”
He’ll shove you out of the Cry Run and then you’ll find a field, lay down, and continue making out with wet, salty lips.
Happy Cry Run Day!
