In the front is a long bar, in the back dozens of bookshelves with titles for sale, but this railroad space is marked throughout by a  joyous bookishness. It seems like half the folks sitting at the bar are alone, scribbling into their journals in between sips; in the back, bibliophiles browse the shelves for their next read, or listen to whomever is at the mic telling stories, reading poems, or discussing literary trends (there’s a robust event series here). The “club” is a bookstore all day long, with the bar transitioning from coffee drinks to harder stuff once the sun sets.