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Alone on that bench, sitting next to the Thames. In the middle of London. In the middle of the week. Alone.

The crying man next to me.

Putting my own confusion out of my mind - what would cause someone to sit on a bench bawling?

I steal a glance. Always curious.

Up his legs.

He's bent down.

Head in his hands.

Dark hair.

A quick glance.

He looks...

No.

NO. ...

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stories in "romantic"   |   all stories by "BiJockStories"