Then tell us about it!
Almost every computer screen I saw had some sort of word processing software open, and the thought that most people in the room had come to Filter to be productive was slightly foreign. I admit I also shamelessy strained myself to see what books patrons were reading or holding as props. My field notes yield the following: Kundera’s The Joke, Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges, a graphic novel titled Unlikely by Jeffrey Brown, and a Kentucky Derby coffee-table book. My informal bathroom wall survey “What are you reading?” was humored with a few responses over the next two days: Isaac Asimov’s Prelude to Foundation; poems by Mark Strand; Black Skin, White Masks, by the French post-colonial theorist Frantz Fanon; and finally Eat, Pray, Love, a book whose ubiquitous cover Oprah displayed on two consecutive episodes of her show (This survey response was followed by a brief explanation: “It is so perspiring [sic],” with “so” underlined in the squiggly style often seen in the yearbooks of middle-schoolers).
Seth described anticipating his first visit to the Filter’s new location in the same way we anticipate meeting up with an old crush, unbearably anxious to learn whether our fondly remembered sweetheart could have possibly remained true to the beatific image we have cherished for so long. He was not disappointed with the coffeehouse’s effort to replicate the old space or vibe and seemed even to appreciate the slight air of sophistication. During our conversation, he began chatting with a girl who was working on her laptop and who sat on a green, crushed-velvet chair identical to his. Nico, a student at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, was there laying out business cards for a graphic-design company she had just started with her boyfriend. Wearing pointy black oxfords and a red-and-blue patterned silk blouse, Nico responded sweetly and patiently to the interruption. “So, how did you end up here?” Seth inquired. She smiled softly, quietly observing that “it’s homey and cozy,” knowing that instead he wanted to learn what she was doing. She was new to the neighborhood – a transplant from Gainesville, Florida – and a friend had recommended the coffehouse.
Filter has cleansed its new body of its gritty origins, wiped the purposeful smear of dirt off its brow, and learned to smile at strangers—though this may come at the dismay of some. A note in one of the ladies’ bathrooms, scrawled in blue chalk above the toilet, reads: “dear FILTER, I miss your old-style coziness. How can we bring it back?” The conservative memo is signed by “little blue elephant” with “lots of love.”
