it started with one cap

We opened on the corner of Sheridan and Loyola with six chairs, a secondhand grinder and a yellow cap hanging on a nail behind the counter. The cap belonged to the first person who ever asked us to make him a coffee, and he forgot it on the first morning. He came back for it and stayed for another cup, and that is roughly how the whole thing has gone since.

The roastery is three streets away, above an old hardware shop. We roast small batches twice a week, which is the polite way of saying nothing sits around long enough to get dull. If you come in on a Tuesday morning the whole block smells like it.

The wall by the window belongs to the regulars. Polaroids, ticket stubs, a drawing of the stick figure someone's daughter did better than we ever have. Nobody planned it. Somebody pinned something up and nobody has taken anything down since.

good coffee, good days