POLY Yeonhui

On the counter at Poly sits a record called More Than I Can Bear. I want to address this. Nothing here is more than anyone can bear. The stools are wooden and sensible. The counter is steel and calm. The coffee is poured slowly by people who seem to have all the time in the world for you. If anything, this is exactly as much as I can bear, which is rare, and I'd like more of it. Now, the record. Many cafés have a turntable. Most of those turntables are furniture. A record on display is a prop. A record on a turntable with the needle down is a promise. At Poly the needle was down, kid. Real music, through a hi-fi system that clearly cost someone a conversation with their accountant. Not for show. For listening. We had two pour-overs. Delicious. We bought a bag of beans. But what I'll remember is that the staff cared whether we enjoyed it. Not whether we bought it. Whether we enjoyed it. That's a structure that bears weight. Here's the lesson. Plenty of things in life are on display. Very few are actually playing. Find the ones where the needle's down, and stay for the whole side. Go. Order the pour-over. Listen to the record. Flip it if they let you.