I'm writing tonight from Camp Bookwalter. It's a magical place. Camp Bookwalter is a three foot area extending from the distressed end table in my living room to my leather recliner with a forty five degree angle back to the couch. It's a magical place.
On lazy afternoons and even lazier nights, we congregate here, two humans, one with his nose in a football game and one with a nose in her computer (and one eye on the football game.)
My camp has a great internet connection, which is essential for life as I know it, pink slipper socks and pictures of my favorite people strewn about.
It's a magical place.
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