Ghost of individuality

Small door way in manchester that used to be the access to the Kardomah coffee bar, unfortunately a place before my time.

In a modern world of generic, bland, americanised coffee chains where even the music is centrally dictated, stories of places like the Kardomah make me wish i had experienced them. In the 1960s it was apparently the place for artists, musicians and poets to meet.

I often think I was born out of time and long to have supped my coffee in a beatnik basement without a single pretentious arse asking brayingly for a skinnyymochafloppawankachhinno ...