GREY DOG'S COFFEE, 33 Carmine Street, Greenwich Village, (212) 46212041.
The Grey Dog, we go there for breakfast for the five of us.
"Don't tell me that's where the six-foot grey dog statue is," I said.
"I get a view by the water, great people watching and a healthy meal at the Grey Dog".
At the Grey Dog's Coffee, a neighboring shop, two sidewalk benches are secured by a chain; but some years back, the shop's unchained rocking chair vanished.
But the sole cafe on Carmine Street is Grey Dog's Coffee, whose atmosphere is too unrelentingly downtown young: hip wholesome.
They rendezvous, at Beavan's suggestion, at the Grey Dog's Coffee, on University Place, which, Farquharson sniffs, doesn't seem "especially green in any way".
The couple saluted her: "Cheers!" Next stop, Grey Dog's Coffee on Carmine Street, rated No. 1 coffeehouse, where Ms. Sorid patted the space next to her. "I always make you sit next to me," she told her boyfriend.
She proceeds south along the river toward Greenwich Village, where she makes a left on Charles Street and meanders a maze of streets to Carmine Street to meet a friend for lunch at Grey Dog's Coffee.
A film of definitively British miserableness, the sort embodied by Morrissey (before he moved to LA and embraced sunshine), or the lyrics to the Pet Shop Boys' 'Being Boring' (has the word 'haversack' ever been better deployed?) or, indeed, the oppressively grey dog-ends-of-winter sky I can see hovering stalkerishly outside the window as I write.
