I'm realizing they have bad coffee. Amy said so, and now I believe it. It's bitter and burnt. But I can't stop going there. And I don't know the name of the place. How can you not know the name of something, yet feel so close to it? Maybe it's because they post family photos from Morocco and of people and dogs from the neighborhood. Molly's dog, Hudson, is on the board, as is a picture of Geoff wearing shorts and shades. He only has a cane in the picture; now he uses an aluminum walker. I could tell you even more things about the place -- like how the heads of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble guard the door, like how they (the baristas, not Fred and Barney) tease me and say they're going to give me decaf, but this is briefblog, and it's now time to drink a cup of bad coffee.
posted by c. # 4:17 PM 
