It exists behind blue lattice-work and French doors, curtains drawn aside, implying invitation. It is intimately placed seating in an open-spaced setting. Small tables allow for overheard conversations and the sharing of condiments, while still remaining separate, apart, their own. Here is where it lives. It begins operating at an early hour because it has to keep up with Brooklyn. People are assured that it functions to keep them functioning. It does. It will. This place runs because of those who continue to run for it – regulars eating oatmeal at the bar, new-comers ordering lattes from the window seats. Steamed milk. Reliable espresso. Premium fuel. This is it in action.
It runs and fuels and functions, but it also steadies with ease, aware of the individual. Aware of dark days leaving dark trails, this place is intentionally hot chocolate, lounge seating, a case with sweet things begging for indulgence. Living up to its name, there are pillows, there is comfort. It remains in tune. As the evening becomes evident, tables begin to rely on tea-lights, the space filling with centered glows.. The bar turns into shared wine and shared space, low conversation over glasses filled with red. Mason jars brim with cocktails and push together in cheers, red straws swirling with the sound. This is it with a drink in hand. This place, this space, is all of these things. All of these things are at the Pillow Café. And it is outlined in blue. Welcome!