I’m loving this place. The slanting rain hammers on outdoors but there is always a wash of remaining sunlight slipping through the window. There is always a fat book open on the table, and more fat books waiting to be opened. There is always coffee in the jar, cookies to be eaten. The light is always soft, sometimes too dark for a book, but always inviting. Latte boy always warms my feet. This is my home, my little homeland.
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