It was one of those days that the subway was not having a mood swing. A good day, I'd say. It wasn't lightning fast, the doors still kept stopping midway through closing because someone jumped in at the last second; but at least it wasn't frequently stopping in between stations, jerking forward every two seconds. In short, the subway ride that morning was not a nightmare. Plus, I didn't have to run - or walk and run - to not be late. It also meant that I had time to swing by a coffee shop and spend some time drinking half of it - and still not be late. Or worry about being late.
As I exited the subway station through the narrow staircase, along with a horde of commuters, I headed towards the coffee shop that was just a few steps away. To my surprise, it was closed - permanently. Wooden boards plastered parts of the door on the inside, the entire place dark and messy. I was saddened. The baristas there were nice and attentive, always trying to brighten their customers' mornings, making jokes and just doing small talk. They had great coffee. The ambiance was lovely despite the small area. It was a good coffee shop, and I just couldn't believe that they closed down.
I then ended up across the street, at a cafe that I've never been to but I always see when I come up the subway station. A small cozy space, with a single bar counter table by the window and across the cashier and pastry display case. The coffee was good, nothing too special honestly. And I also wished that they put in more effort in making the latte art. Like, spirals don't count. That's just like dumping foamed milk on top.
📍 Fika, New York
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