Bride of Covid Chronicles is a daily trip through the wayward thought patterns of a 76 year old man. A word, phrase, idea, would strike me and I'd be off and running with whatever rose into my compost heap of a mind. Something like stacking bricks to lay a wall without a level. A few times the wall would end up plumb and straight, most times it would wander like a drunkard trying to find a dimly lit men's room in a low rent district bar.
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