There's a bustle going on in this place. Coffee beans grinding, milk steaming with a shrill whistle, and the door from outside opens and closes with a rattle bang.
The laptop community is nestled here, fingers reaching and eyes intent. We're listening to a steady stream of Canadians mixing vocals into the aural landscape. I witness Alanis' acoustic version of Ironic for the first time.
The mood is set by a number of textures - the brick walls, antique glass windows steamed up with condensation, red and white striped cotton awning flapping in the blustering wind.
We've switched to a dramatic tune by Rufus Wainwright now. Stacks of biscotti share space beside the glass domes encasing artistic pizza wedges. The furniture is worn and love is worked into everything here.
Jeff, behind the counter, caters to everyone's whim. He'll ignore you at your request or indulge you in local history if you want to hear about it.
Life is progressing on the east side at a steady pace. Conversations murmur ahead at a steady hum as more browsers return for their weekly supplies of beans and neighbourhood dish.
There's a sign on the wall that announces that local psychic Lorraine will be on hand every Wednesday for a reading.
A local is chatting with Jeff now, stating her case for taking refuge this snowy afternoon rather than remain in the chilly laundromat nearby.
As their conversation about half-capacity dryer loads ebb into my consciousness, I realize that this is a place you come for a complete reset. You don't need a purpose to be here, you come for the warmth and you can reap the rewards in the breezy non-committal atmosphere.
I first happened on this place when an ex-boyfriend lived upstairs. He was adamant that his apartment coupled with the next-door park and easy-rider-ooze-cafe downstairs was an ideal life.
For a moment here, I'm inclined to agree. The double shot americano is definitely setting in.
MAP of TANGO PALACE LOCATION in TORONTO, ONTARIO.
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