Notes on the Grippe

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Thirty Four

It is a fine day, the finest day you could imagine. The sun has a summer warmth to it that beckons. I wander to a small park nearby where a grand memorial to the fallen was constructed. There are people lying on the brown grass sunbathing and a couple has a stereo set on a bench playing music while they dance. In the trees throughout I hear the chirp of robins and orioles, new arrivals from the south.

That is enough of writing for today. I will keep walking, going wherever my feet take me.

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