I had some free time tonight, and a friend asked if I was going to spend it writing. "Nope," I told her, "I'm going to go to bed early so I can write a lot tomorrow."
Hannah enjoyed a leisurely breakfast that had only been improved by the sight of Leslie and Cheryl screeching and jumping at every pop of the bacon grease on the huge griddle where they working when she made her way through the food line. That duo was dejectedly eating a late breakfast in the back corner of the dining hall, when, at nine am sharp, Hannah and the rest of the kitchen crew presented themselves to Miss Jean, the camp cook.
Jean was a solid woman of about her mother’s age, and Hannah liked her immediately, despite her gruff, matter of fact manner.
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