Just now, reading an article about the descent of Starbucks, and how the bloom is off its rose, brought me back to that neighborhood. I loved the chilly late-Autumn days, when I could see my breath and there was frost on the windows. I'd put on a thick sweater and a light green coat that I nearly always worse, and a red plaid scarf. Trudge down the hill, still blinking out the morning grogginess. There was a little coffee shop at the base of the hill, owned by a hipster couple that were very friendly, and some how managed to convey being utterly frazzled by running their shop without failing to express their genuine pleasure at serving great coffee and great food to customers. They were human, real humans, and not at all hidden behind a corporate veneer.
With a big cup of coffee I'd get on the train into town, the train car warm enough to warrant removing my scarf, only to put it back on again for the walk from 30th Street Station to Drexel. If I had set out early enough, I might have had a chance to sit at one of the cafe tables and read for a little while before heading out. Sometimes I'd do it anyway, even though it made me late. Coffee and a good book outdoors has always been, and remains, one of my greatest pleasures - but there was something about that place that stands out as just about my favorite. What was it called? Wish I could remember.
Might not remember the name, but I'll never forget the place.