Memorial.

Memorial began as a question: what would happen if a coffee bar refused to close at six?

We open before the muezzin's last morning call, with a slow pour-over and the radio turned low. By noon there's the clatter of saucers, the smell of cardamom, friends working from the long oak table.

Then the light shifts. Candles come out, the records get heavier, and the espresso machine quietly learns how to make a martini. By midnight we are no longer a café. We are a small, dim room where a few good people stay too long.

— From morning coffee to last call.