Around the corner from my apartment in Brooklyn is a coffee shop that hits all the hipster marks. Through a creaky wooden door and onto the equally creaky wooden floor you are welcomed by either R&B or folk radio playing depending on who is the the head barista that day.
The coffee is always strong and less expensive when you pay in cash. The bagel with cream cheese and tomato slices calls to me most weekends. I answer the call and head to a bar stool (yes they pour a large selection of whiskeys and beer in the evening, so there is a true bar) or walk to the quiet backyard. The staff knows every other customer by name and half of them are mostly there to drag their dogs inside for a meet and greet. It's rare any place openly welcomes dogs - so it's well taken advantage of at the shop.
Every customer has a new story to share every Saturday. They returned from travel, they fought with their landlord, they sold a script, they fell out with a friend. But for me, it's the same each time. The only change is whether the coffee comes hot or cold. The predictability of a Saturday morning at The West is comforting and exhilarating at the same time. I just hope they never run out of the everything bagel.
