The Last Word: Crying (with joy) in the Chapel

It’s always me. I have the uncanny knack, in any given situation, of blundering haplessly into anecdotal territory. So if there’s an open manhole cover, a banana skin or a social time-bomb nearby, I’m inevitably your man. I appear to be magnetically attracted to such things.

So it was, this summer, when I went to a friend’s wedding. I arrived at the church, filed into a row of my choosing, and sat down (for no reason in particular),...

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