Sssshhhhh

There's a place in my neighborhood that looks like a laundromat, but it isn't anything, actually. I was once fooled, and landed in front of this secret place with a heavy basket full of laundry on a very cold, below zero winter evening.

I had just moved, alone, into my then new apartment, and my ex-husband had dropped me off in front of the not laundromat, and sped away. Seconds later I realized that it was not a fully functioning, or even open for business establishment.

I've been asked over the past four years if this place is a laundromat, and the memory of carting the laundry basket in the skin stinging cold back to my new, empty, apartment comes back too quickly. Its sign is a cruel joke. I'd say what's on the sign, but I told the owner I'd keep it on the down-low until the coffee shop opens, though T. gave me permission today to take, and share photos, which I accidentally deleted from my camera (and I'm taking that as some sort of other sign.)

As early as next month this secret spot will be an actual coffee shop. T. said it's okay to say it'll be on North Avenue, but not to reveal its address. Today I toured the inside, and saw antique brick, a custom mural depicting what I am assuming to be a historical Puerto Rican scene, and Tiffany lamps hanging over each table.

It's going to be so cool, and I am so excited. I can't recall being this excited about something in my hood opening. Though it was totally bare, I got a chill looking at the tiled counters, and bar area, because it had a lot of character, rare for a new venture, and I can imagine it being the perfect coffee shop, and much needed, especially now that Filter, Sweet Thang, Blend, and Half and Half have all disappeared.

T. told me that the coffee shop has been a dream of his for the past two years, and that he's been quietly working on it with the help of a few friends. T. is a true local, and he's ran a bodega that's been a neighborhood staple for over two decades. The bodega is adjacent to the coffee shop, and the cans of wet cat food he sells are about 50% less than the same ones at the now closed Always Open, or W. Crossings, so I also have a feeling that the Unnamed Coffee Shop will be priced to attract everyone, like those mortgage officers that can probably no longer afford to eat sushi lunches on North Ave, and people like myself that just can't do the cups of fancy java anymore, or go to places like Earwax where it's easy to feel guilty for not ordering food, too.