Okay! Here she comes.
Get the hell out of her way!
Can’t you see she’s in a hurry? Everything probably looks so blurry. It’s not impaired vision but the tears in her eyes. No, it’s not inconsolable sorrow. It’s her bloody profession.
She cries when she wants to. Her services are much in demand. There’s a waiting period of roughly two months. So, if someone’s about to die, or you need some help to cry, call this number and be prepared for a card or cash transfer.
Fifty for slight sniffles. Hundred for a steady stream. Two hundred for blown-out sobbing hysteria. Screaming and cursing inclusive.
No refunds. No EMI. No cry first and then pay later.
Mind it! No bargaining.
Look at her go. Those pretty pearls and bouncy curls. She swings to the left and then to the right. It’s not dancing but the art of mourning. Simple tears don’t convey the grief intended. Your dropped jaw and round eyes are sufficient thank-you.
All that crying makes her weary and thirsty. Two glasses of water spiked with gin and vodka. That should do it. Oh! Look at the time. An hour gone by.
She leaves you in tears and the jarring fear of your own impending death. Now, that’s a job well done. A generous tip would be fine. I can see you’re still drooling over her.
How about getting that stiff to his grave? He’s melting like a nasty cheesecake.
Three more to go before the day is done. One dead woman, a recovering divorcee, and an old, stubborn man on the verge of dying. Hopefully, he’ll be kind and stick to the tight schedule.
Or you can reschedule. The money won’t be adjusted.
She wipes her face, touches up her make-up, and blows out her stuffy nose. It’s wrong to carry over another’s woes.
Alright! Out of her way!
3-2-1. Repeat now.
She longs to live a happy life. But Servant Girl Munni is so lonely. The crack in the door her only respite.