Not Your Average Coffee Shop

Where am I today?

It’s a grey day out. I am working from a nearby coffee shop, aptly named for its location. The atmosphere of natural woods and metal warms me on this chilly day. The smell of fresh brewed coffee is strong. I am sitting at a counter made of solid, what I am assuming, local wood and can peer out the window at a street forever lined with cars. To my left hangs a large periodic table, behind me a display of demitasse cups. Near the counter hangs a lighted sign and a simple menu. There are few pastries on display and a clear focus on the quality of coffee.

As I sip my Americano, enjoying its smooth, nutty flavor, I notice a steady stream of mac users, freelancers and young professionals dressed in business-hipster-casual. The door, appearing to be more of a turnstile, facilitates the perpetual line of patrons. The shop is busy, but not bothersome. There is no music to be heard, although it may be playing. Instead I hear a soft whistle and the hum of machinery, all to the irregular beat of  aeration and tamping.

Overhead hangs a wooden canoe, a recent addition to the shop. To me, it symbolizes the nearness to the river and the adventure of the city, while also thinking how it would feel if it fell on me.

Around the corner, a barista stands behind the counter in a black t-shirt and jeans. He wears no apron, but displays a simple stripe tattoo on his muscular right arm. His smile communicates a reserved, yet warm welcome; his eyes a sincerity and truth. I see him go between the register and the dish sink quietly. He doesn’t bark orders or act silly. Instead he works hard and relates with his co-workers. I find myself distracted, wondering what he’s like. 

The neighborhood, filled with industry and warehouses, mirrors the Pearl district of the not so distant past. Nearby are at least two trendy happy hour locations, one reminiscent of historic expeditions, the other of sandwiches. There is a neighboring dance studio hosting burlesque and hip hop classes and train tracks that, on occasion, frustrate drivers exiting I-5. On a nice day it wouldn’t take me long to reach the Willamette for a long walk or watch the Wasabi teams gearing up for a race.




Do you know where I am?