we have the same coffee order

The other day I said I didn't know why I moved, but I do know why I moved. The place is mine all mine, it is the least I've ever had to pay for rent, and because it was formerly occupied by my friend I didn't have to go through the whole apartment search process. Effort is for losers. Also, after seven years in Manhattan, I thought it might be interesting to live elsewhere. Ever the adventurer, I moved just across the East River and can still walk to work on the Lower East Side. Anyway.

My neighborhood is odd. It's the Deep South of Williamsburg, a buffer zone between the hassids and the hipsters. Unlike Williamsburg Williamsburg, my little area down by the river is largely unincorporated, so there are none of those New York conveniences like running down to the deli for a Power Sandwich (OMG have I never told you about Power Sandwiches?? Someday, my children, someday.) at 4 a.m. and the subway is a hearty 10-minute walk away. The only place to get coffee in the morning is a quaint faux country store/cafe/restaurant, and I can often make it there seeing just one or two people out and about.

But, of course, times are a-changin'. There are two new condo buildings going up on my teeny tiny block and one already in business up the street, and I've spent a lot of time wondering who the hell is going to be living there. I enjoy a nice river view and organic produce as much as the next gentrifier, but if I had enough money for a condo, I'd get one with more direct Power Sandwich access is all I'm sayin'. So who the hell is going to be living there?

Back to the coffee. So, obviously, all fifteen people who currently live in my immediate vicinity get their coffee at Marlow. One morning there were film crews all over the place outside, so I wasn't terribly shocked when a C-lister took the place behind me in the coffee line. I was a little suprised, though, when I saw him again the next day. And the next day, when he carried his iced coffee with soy milk and designer dog into the condos across the street. Say hello to my new neighbor!

UPDATE: EEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I read about a restaurant called Pies-N-Thighs when it opened up whenever-ago. I thought to myself, I would like to go there, and then I thought that I would never bother to go find it in the hinterlands. I just discovered that it's, like, practically in my house. And check out that winning endorsement for their pulled pork. I can't even begin to describe my love for pulled pork. Can't wait to reconnect with my Fat Jeans.