Flung Back into the Jazz-Filled Suburbs

Today I very much needed to get back to a strong work mode. Having slept late, I wanted to get started as soon as possible.

The Starbucks near Red's place in Laurelhurst is not yet fit for serious work most days. It just doesn't have the right vibe. The guy who comes there every morning to put on his earphones and perform flamboyant air-drumming is enough to distract me from most work tasks.

So I whizzed right past it in the Bimmer, going further east down Burnside, all the way down to Grand. Red's gay housemate Wayson had suggested a place called Coava on Grand and Main. He said it was the hippest place in East Portland, with industrial equipment right inside the coffee shop.

"You can watch people doing things like...sawing wood," he said, slowly mimicking the gesture of cutting a plank.

He advised me to go there wearing my t-shirt with spackled baking soda that looked like white paint.

It took me five minutes circling to find a parking spot. Inside it was exactly as Wayson described, complete with a drill press where a couple hipster guys were at work on their laptops. But there was  fifteen-person line for coffee, and only a few places to sit.  All of the stand-up work stations along the far wall were occupied.

Nice, I thought---but not for work today. Have to come back here during an off hour.

This was a no-nonsense day. It was time to put a dent in the work tasks backlog on Jira. I needed momentum going into the weekend.

I needed a place I could concentrate. I needed my old type of Starbucks back, with its soft jazz soundtrack, and where the restroom didn't have a key or a punch code.

So I crossed the Morrison Bridge onto the west side and got on I-5 heading south towards Lake Oswego.

It was time to go back to Bridgeport Village.