There used to be a fitness apparel store at 1753 N. Damen. I went there in search of "yoga pants" once, laughed at an $84 price tag, and never went back.
A few weeks ago Mongo Home moved into the spot once occupied by breathable microfibers.
Though I can't afford anything in Mongo Home, either, it's my kind of spot. I could have a Miss Havisham style lock-in with my cat, and be okay, as in forever, and ever.
Slang for "a person that forages for discarded objects," mongo takes the mongo one step further, and creates a home for a mongo with very fine taste, and refurbishing skills. Some of the items on display looked like things I'd lusted after in alleys over the years, yet for whatever reason-- time, space, microscopic pathogens, three flights of stairs-- I never hauled home.
Since I don't have the means to be a real customer at the moment, or in the foreseeable near moment, I hung out for a bit in Mongo Home, which is an offshoot of Urban Remains, an architectural salvage company. I explained its owner that I'm kind of a neighborhood stray, but that I do have a home, and I now read tarot cards at caffe De Luca on Wednesday evenings, which secretly gives me an added sense of legitimacy. I ended up reading his tarot cards in Mongo Home, on a table that would've cost three months of salary when I had a job.
He drew the Strength card as his very first card. Strength is the one card out of 78 I chose to blog about earlier this morning. I thought that was interesting.
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