Neil Young is playing loudly over the stereo, the place is busy, it’s got to be, it’s on the corner of Broome St. and Orchard St. in the Bargain District, downtown Manhattan, windows cover two of the walls, it’s actually quite spacious – the rent must be outrageous. Small circle tables line the wall along the back, with a church-pew style bench running behind them. There are twenty seats available in the coffee shop, all arranged on the right side of the little not-quite-square space and half of the floor is taken up by the big granite bar and the open kitchen area behind it. Three female employees wear bandanas and rotate working the register, making sandwiches and espressos. The ceiling is high, made up of old one-foot by one-foot ornate tile panels, painted white. Behind the bar there is an almost invisible staircase leading downstairs to the bathroom and storage area. Grungy looking young people, on the job search sit with their laptops and drip coffees, pecking away intently at their keys, a family of tourists eats paninis and sips on little glass coke bottles and a hipster guy wearing skinny black Bermuda shorts, little black Chuck Taylor low-tops, a v-neck t-shirt and baggy cardigan sweater sits in the corner gulping coffee, knee bouncing faster and faster as the caffeine kicks in, reading a novel. Viewing the street from the back, on the long bench, looking out the big windows, the street looks derelict but alive. Above all the first floor retail, 100-year-old buildings, three windows wide with ornate masonry and fire escapes line the streets. New York City is a hodge-podge unlike any other city in the world. It’s a dirty, living, breathing slice of heaven.