1. A café that only sells decaf, yerba mate and a salad of bean sprouts laced with iodised salt. Why do I eat here, you cry all the time. The café owner wears only slate-coloured robes and has an MA in Political Philosophy.
2. A café, buried under a mound of blue mountain coffee beans, forces the visitor to dive into an ocean—tactile and olfactive—representing the consumption and excess of the global capitalist economy. The visitor will find a small trapdoor at the bottom of the mound for him to enter. What are the intersections between food and finance? Café-hoppers are invited to reflect on the possibilities of their late-capitalist struggle while blind-testing a variety of Sumatran coffees, all more vegetal than floral.
3. A café that tries to commemorate the year 1997. A mixtape, primarily constituted by the exhaustive discography of the Hanson brothers, is played on loop to the dismay of café patrons.
4. A café in a garden, under a stone. It is the world's first microcafé in a fungal colony.
5. A café with one chair and 24 tables, arranged in a line. It is open throughout the week, serving only one customer at a time, who must stay for the entire duration of the day, moving along the tables. The customer first moves together with the shadows cast by daylight; after sunset he will find that internal biological rhythms will lead him to order espresso-based beverages once every 30 minutes. He will call upon these rhythms to choreograph his glacial movements.
6. A café that expresses itself as an equation. When solved, the fabric of space and time will open up to produce the Platonic form of a French press. It has a rather DIY aesthetic, which some might not always appreciate.
