About three times a year, I take my mother to her GP, where she undergoes various tests and a checkup. She is diabetic and has coronary issues; however, the consistent volume of coughing during the 1-2 hour jet-cooling time in the crowded waiting room is drowned out only by the volume of Oprah or Maury or whatever other asshole with a psychic is on TV, so I guess the other patients are all deaf and stupid and have TB.

Fortunately, I found a safe haven about two blocks away, down an alley off the commercial street around the corner from the doctor's office: Rose's little coffee shop. In the summer, I can bring the dog and sit outside. Her views on politics and social policy are not exactly progressive, which is typical of the older Staten Island Italian-American population, but she brews excellent coffee and espresso, doesn't blast any kind of noise, and runs a very clean and tidy operation. Her coffee shop is a cocoon of bliss in what would otherwise be an entirely stressful trip.