I am filled with preconceived notions and unfulfillable expectations. It is no place’s fault that they fall short. Certainly every place is loved by someone just like every person, no matter how objectionable I might find them, usually seems to stir themselves up a mate. I like things that many people would find uninteresting. One of my favourite parts of Mexico City was the piles of garbage and the guy selling cellophane tape on a towel by the Zocalo. Some people love Starbucks and some people love shopping for CDs. I went to the Mission district to buy records and be breezily caffeinated in a gentle coffee shop. After tearfully leaving Aquarius Records empty handed with the kind of embarrassment a kid has making an uninformed off-color boast to an older crowd and being shut down, I tasted the air in search of some blackjo and did not have to go far to hail Ritual. Although not the breezy and oddly light-filled tomb of afternoon hot beverages that is Dr Bombays or Chapterhouse, it redeemed the BART trip for me with its concept.

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I walked into Xhedos within 15 minutes of finishing my coffee at Java Hutt just up the street. I had actually parked in front of Xhedos but Hutt was the place I had referenced on the web from Portman’s Renaissance Center back by the river in Detroit before heading out on the highway to Ferndale. Also, from the outside, I was not quite sure Xhedos was a coffee establishment, it seemed more clearly to be a thrift store cum poetry slam venue, but there was some sort of tightrolled filthy sophistication about it that made me walk by a few more times like a square.

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