I never met the victims of the Café Racer shootings, but I
knew a few of them by sight. Café Racer is my neighborhood coffee shop, just a
few blocks away from the house where Kristen and I live, and every once in a
while I would walk over there to read and I’d see the regulars
sitting on their stools, chatting with whoever was behind the bar at the
time. Joe Albanese and Drew Keriakedes were particularly memorable characters.
I didn’t know those people personally but I do know the
space. Café Racer is a neighborhood gem and is obviously
a labor of love. It has the kind of character that cannot be manufactured, but rather accumulates over time like the patina on an old wooden
bannister. It feels alive. Which is why, once my initial shock at the news of
the shootings had passed, I realized that I was grieving not only for the murdered
human beings but also for the space. This maniac came into a beautiful place—a place
that sheltered a unique social ecosystem—and he defiled it. He killed my
neighbors and splashed my favorite local spot with their blood. I harbor a great,
primal anger over this.
An open letter from staff assures us that Café Racer will survive
this shooting. In fact just the other day Kristen and I noticed that the piles
of memorial flowers had been removed from the front of the establishment, and we could see people
working inside. I hope it happens soon. This whole sad story has reminded me just
how precious places like Café Racer are, and that they need our support to
thrive. It has reminded me not to take them for granted.
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