Logs:Place

Place
Dramatis Personae Alma, Wendy	2020-06-11 "It's basically a unicorn hunt."
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. Evolve has been bustling nonstop for neigh on two weeks now, and today is no exception, the buzz of activist energy is not much diminished by the gray skies that continually threaten rain. A small contingent of mostly white youths bedecked in rainbow colors is out on the patio, sharpying jail support numbers onto each others' scantily clad bodies with the nervous energy of those new to risking arrest. Inside the crowd is more sedate, a lot of tired protesters taking a break from day-long marches or marathon phone banking or shuttling supplies around town. In the midst of all this, the two small tables that had been pushed together and reserved near the front with a handwritten sign that reads "JOC for Black Lives" looks jarringly empty with only two occupants. Alma glances at the door every time it opens, and back down at the dredges of her mocha, long since gone cold, every time the new arrivals pass them by. She's dressed snappily, as is her habit, in a white dress shirt, black vest, and black trousers all cut to suit her modest curves rather than conceal them. A matching jacket with red paisley lining hangs over the back of her chair, and she wears a kippah with a bold Black Power fist embroidered on its respectable red satin. "I don't think anyone else is going to show," she says finally, her smile thin and resigned. Wendy looks more casual, in pink crepe culottes and a flowing-sleeved white top, a pink newsboy cap removed and sitting on the table in front of her. She's perched in a crouch in her chair, toying with the laces of one of her bright white Keds and chewing on the straw of her boba tea, its ice near melted. "Disappointing," she muses quietly, "maybe not surprising." Her teeth clamp down harder on the straw. Her brows pinch. "Should we have reached out to other shuls?" she wonders first, but just as quick, uncertain, "-- which ones?" Alma settles back in her chair, looking perhaps surprisingly together even in this casual slouch. "Probably. I guess it was wishful thinking we'd get at least a few." Her tone is light, here, but she can't keep the frustration entirely from her face, brows gathering faintly. "They talk real big about how being sephardim in America teaches compassion for the downtrodden, but sure not eager to pick up those who've been trod upon." She shakes her head, pushes out a long breath. "But yeah, maybe Central Synagogue? Or the one Ner Tamid is attached to -- is it Temple Israel? I can't keep track of these Reform congregation names." Her frown deepens, though no in thought. "New Shul? Up in Greenwich." "We'd probably get more if the rabbis were more --" Wendy hesitates, sucking at her tea. Her brows knit deeper as no tea is actually sucked up; she pulls the straw out of the cup entirely to delicately pluck a tapioca ball off the end of the straw with her teeth. "Proactive." She leaves off the idle toying at her shoelace to twist around and pluck a cell phone out of the handbag hanging on the back of her chair. Sets it on the table, swiping at it with one finger. "Some of those have made strong statements but what that means in practice -- well. Wow, this New Shul place looks very, um." She's examining her phone screen with a very small compression of lips. "We can reach out." "Rabbi Jacob means well, but he doesn't want trouble." Alma braces her elbows on the table and leans forward while Wendy peruses. "Yeah, the New Shul is..." She chews on her lower lip. "...one of the places I'd considered before Spence dragged me to Anshei Shalom. But they have a 'strong commitment to social justice', so..." Her slender shoulder give a shrug. "...at least a few might decide to get off their tuchuses." Her smile returns, slow and tired. "Not looking forward to those conversations, but maybe this will help me figure out where to go, after I move." "Does that strong commitment mean no police in their shul, I wonder." Wendy is still scrolling through their website, thoughtfully. "Have you found a place, yet? To live, I mean. -- occasionally you'll find us welcoming in Shabbat at a pub in the Village, or meditating on the beach." She shakes her head, flicking away from the New Shul website. "Maybe it isn't my place to say, but I feel like trouble is already here. Staying quiet about it is just -- saying that you're okay with who it's falling on." "At the time, yes, but a lot's happened since my last synagogue search." Something complicated and pained flits across Alma's face. "I don't know how much you heard about the Tree of Life shooting while you were in there, but you saw how things got after the Monsey attack last Hanukkah." She braces her elbows against the table just a bit more. "Not yet. And at this point, if I actually find a shul I like, living near it would be a priority for me -- right behind cost and having roommates I can tolerate." "I heard about it since." Wendy's fingers curl tight against the sides of her glass. She takes a slow sip of her tea, eyes lowered. "I feel like any one of those is going to be a search but finding all three --" Her lips compress. "I like my roommates but rent is a struggle." The corners of her eyes crinkle, just slightly. "We should take a page from Seattle's book. Just commandeer the Lower East Side. Declare it the People's space now. So long, I guess," she decides, "as there's a decent synagogue in here." "It's basically a unicorn hunt," Alma agrees with a sigh and a philosophical shrug. "My budget is a bit more flexible than yours, probably, even after tuition, but I'm not even sure where to start on the roommate front. You're living with labmates, right? All goyim?" She picks up her mug and sips at the leavings of her mocha, grimacing slightly. "Sure, let's do it. And if there's not a decent synagogue -- let's make one. Lower East Shul." Wendy hesitates, her brows knitting. "Yes, they are." A cautious answer. She drains the rest of her tea, stirring up the few tapioca balls that linger in the bottom of the glass. Reaching out with one hand, she tips the 'JOC for Black Lives' sign face down on the table. "I'm sure we'll have a good community around here, if we do." The smile she tips Alma is small. "And I know we'll have a great cantor." "Mine, too." Alma doesn't sound in any way upset about this, only matter-of-fact. "But they want to stay in Queens and I'm sick of spending half my day riding the subway." She smiles, warm and bright. "I can see it now. We can reclaim Eldridge Street Museum and make it a synagogue again. Not sure how we'll find a rabbi for our autonomous shul, but I'm sure if we had more publicity..." She stretches and leans back in her chair. "Nothing else for it, guess we gotta throw a revolution."