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It’s early Sunday afternoon in 1967–I mean Silver Lake–I mean Echo Park–I mean…Silver Lake?

Picture, if you will, an awkward attempt to graft 50 square feet of downtown Portland into the dark heart of Los Angeles. Perched on the corner there is a quaint little version of the Stumptown Coffee Co. filtered through some essence of New Mexico and constructed with the fragrant remains of a Tacoma paper mill:

Chango.

Upon entering Chango (or, “the Manhole” as some locals refer to it) there’s a certain checklist one must abide by. A set of unwritten laws regarding behavior, style, Bob Newhart, conduct and general aura. First of all, there is no “line.” There is a loosely designated “Row of Hang Out” in which you must not even acknowledge the presence of a cash register. You are expected to spend your time casually glancing about and counting out exact change in your pocket until a barista summons you. For bonus points, attempt to strike up a meandering conversation with one of your fellows, dropping key phrases such as “farmers market,” “vegan friendly” or “fucking Bush administration.” Also (and this one is important) LEAVE YOUR CREDIT CARD IN THE CAR. They don’t take kindly to cards and if you’re carrying one upon entering they’ll smell it on you and mark you down for a spitter.

Now, pay no mind to the fact that the barista you’ve never met may automatically nickname you something like “my fine feathered friend” or “Bruce Rainbow” or “commodore 2004.” This is not an invitation to conversation. You stoically order your drink and pay up. They’re also likely to be mumble-singing to some Leonard Cohen song and silently plotting their next move in their favorite pastime: courting Devendra Banhart.

By the time you’ve got your coffee in hand you should already have a seat picked out. Keep in mind that you will never get a spot at the tables next to the register. These are lorded over by the Holy Hierarchy of the Wi-Fi Elite. They never leave and they’re all composing some sort of essay of transcendental musings on Medicare for domesticated animals. They do seem to enjoy themselves, though.

Now, when you’re all cozy at your table, it’s time for phase two: absorption. This will be the bulk of your experience. Sit there and soak it all in. It’s important to remember that you too are part of the scenery and to dress and act accordingly. (As is indicative of our commitment to authenticity, we had to wait ’till we’d grown mustaches before commencing our research for this piece.) Be hip while watching the neighboring stores attempt to be make some sorta fashion statement without being in the fashion industry. Really feel the summer air upon your face as gangsters drive by in Cadillacs and stare at you and your awesome broccoli head band. But to really fit in, just go all out and dress as an Indian. If you start now, you can say you did it first.

The last and most important part of this experience is leaving. You get one chance to really show who you are in the Silver Lake/Echo Park community. There is a stop sign right in front of the store, so when you’re leaving, make sure to get the appropriate selection of fairy-hippie/60’s rock/NPR background tribal music just loud enough for the two hippies out front to hear.

You all now have the essentials. It’s up to you to take in the experience and go with it where you want it to go. Now go frolic and enjoy the ride/coffee.

End Scene,
Dan Tana/Torquil Crossingham