Back when I felt comfortable sitting in a cafe for hours on end writing, I would walk down North Williams Avenue to visit Either/Or. I’d flash a smile at the barista behind the counter; we’d talk about the weather or where they got their hair cut, and I’d gather my 16-ounce cold brew to take to some dark corner of the cafe. I’d tuck into a breakfast sandwich made with shiitake mushroom sausage or a rice bowl; I’d see friends or sit down to interview a source. I lived my life at Either/Or — without questioning whether or not I belonged there.
Either/Or doesn’t feel like a cafe; inside,
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