Crenshaw's observations of B&B got me to thinking about coffee houses I have known and loved. Last Exit on Brooklyn in Seattle surely is on my list.

I could hang out there when I wanted to be alone in a friendly crowd. The marble table tops (marble slabs formerly from old King County Courthouse restroom stall doors) were wonderful to write on. I'd order a pot of orange spice or jasmine tea, or some strong coffee, occasionally a slab of apple pie. I could use the din of the coffee house as warm ambient noise that inspired me.

I could hang out there with assorted friends. One worked the espresso machine and won my heart with a shy smile. Another, the man who introduced me to the Last Exit first, was often found playing pick up games of chess or go, over coffee and smokes.

One friend was a Vietnam vet then working for the Merchant Marine and running guns on the side. He appreciated the strict ban on camera use inside the establishment.

Live music happened, often spontaneously. I remember a good flamenco guitarist on a hot August night. I also remember a really really good piano player who played to transition from his Seattle job back to home on Orcas Island.

A tarot reading was usually happening somewhere inside. And any of us who felt like huddling in an oversized coat and muttering over our lone cup of coffee was allowed to do just that. U.W. students studied or goofed off. Elder philosophers and anarchists held court or hid out in public in those oversized coats.

From what I recall, the food sucked, except for that apple pie. And the service was damn slow. Somehow that was all part of the charm of the place.

The Last Exit was both a destination and a rest stop for wayfarers. The place shaped my dream of what a really good coffee house is.