When I first moved to NYC in August of 2001, I didn’t know that what would matter the most to me about the city was not the adventure of it, but the routines embedded within that adventure. But it didn’t take long to figure out. Quickly, my freshman year roommate, Ambika, found Caffe Reggio on MacDougal street, a short block from our Washington Square Park dorms and it became not just a place we went sometimes but THE place we went. I liked to order cappuccinos and mozzarella sandwiches and read while Italian waiters navigated the tight space. There was a sign— or maybe it was written on the menu?- that it was the location of America’s first espresso machine. I don’t know if this is true. Please don’t tell me if it’s not. This idea— that I was sitting in the first place in all of the States to have an espresso machine— made the place seem precious and important and worthy of my obsession.