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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

When we lived in Tuxtla Gutierrez, I found this favorite spot by means of my friend Edwin and went as often as I could.  It was a streetside coffee house that was alter-everything coffeeshop that we’ve all come to know. The counter consisted of a couple burlap sacks of different beans, a roaster and a grinder.  You could only order espresso drinks.  For another peso you could have a piece of pan.

The tables were simple and worn and there was a fuzzy tv that always played soccer.  Across from the coffee counter was a lotto/cigarette counter.  Not surprisingly, the place was only patroned by old men, but it opened to the busiest street of Tuxtla with roll up doors so that the entire front was good for gazing at the dizzying contrast of pace happening outside.

I went as often as I could, to get out of the hot afternoon sun and have my fix.  The men sat routinely and nothing ever happened.  The waiter wore all white and never spoke.  It was so hot you could drink the same americano until the evening.  The atmosphere was as stimulating and authentic as I have ever found.  It had to be the muse of a song.  I finished plenty of other writing there, but still haven’t said what I want to say about the place itself.

If we had ever shared coffee, I wondered what the conversations would be like between the old men and myself.  The song is my guess, but I can’t really say because it has to be in my imagination.

This recording is a run through of a couple pages of lyrical ideas.  It’s not developed completely, as is obvious when I just start humming sometimes. I tracked it yesterday to hear back for ideas, and coincidently I needed a song to share today.


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