People tend to go back to where they’re most comfortable. Whether it be a place or with a person. For Philip, it’s an old coffee shop a couple blocks down from his apartment. It’s dangerously on the verge of becoming a hipster hangout—if Philip saw one more pair of galaxy print leggings he would most definitely gag—but if you sat in the right place, it seemed like any other coffee shop.
Being the anti-social, (or just awkward), teen that he was, Philip made sure that he always sat where he could see no one and no one could see him, which was in a lumpy brown mini-sofa conveniently located between two bookcases and the storage room. He wasn't sure that the staff even knew it existed. It was a plus, really.
Philip was a regular. He was on a first-name basis with the staff and even the manager, and was quite fond of the store cat. (The cat was obsessed with him too. It wasn't a one-sided relationship). The aura of the place is what made it great. It made Philip feel, well, safe. As if nothing could harm him while sitting on a chunk of stuffed leather and drinking a bitter black coffee. Philip didn't even like coffee. Hell, he preferred tea. But buying a cup bought him a mini safe haven, which was a pretty fair trade in his eyes. It was like his paradise—surrounded by good people, dusty books, and cat hair.
The only downside was that the books had to stay in the shop, meaning that they couldn't be bought or taken home. And all the speeches that Philip gave to the manager about how he was a responsible adult and most definitely would not trash any book of literature fell over deaf ears. When Philip was reading a particularly good novel about a boy an elephant, he resorted to borrowing—no, not stealing, borrowing—the book from the shop until he finished it. And he was reminded about how bad of a liar he always was when confronted about it the next day. He never got to find out if the elephant found his way home and his coffee suspiciously tasted like salt for the next month. Philip preferred tea, anyways.