The place is called Coffee Bites. It is about the size of my bedroom, and let me tell you, my bedroom is miniscule. I trekked across the street to use their wi-fi and and grab a bagel. Unfortunately, they only had one left: Cinnamon Raisin, which is the absolute worst kind, so I got a panini instead. There’s literally about five square feet of sitting and/or standing room when you first walk in, but to my relief, the pleasant lady behind the counter told me to go upstairs because there’s “more” space. I scurried up the creaky steps, my enormous laptop in hand. When I got to the top, I realized that when she said “more” space, she really only meant an extra ten feet. Within this tiny loft-like room, There was one couch and two chairs, fully occupied by people who seemed annoyed by my presence. I ended up perching on the edge of a rickety stool, placing my laptop on a bookshelf, while balancing my plate on my lap. I hate the feeling that people are looking over my shoulder, but at Coffee Bites that feeling is unavoidable. After two more customers somehow shimmied their way into my little corner, taking up any extra leg space I might’ve had before, I thought: Okay, I’ve had enough of this shoebox. That and the fact that I’d spilled melted cheese all over my favorite pants. As soon as I closed my laptop, a scruffy, bearded guy immediately appeared behind me, staring down at my little stool like a hawk.
Hey dude, you’re more than welcome to it. Forever.