Resting in a tiny
backstreet just around the corner from the city library
is a small, indistinct building which the frosting
on the windows proclaims to be Euterpe's Coffee House.
Inside the creaking wooden door is a single room filled
with small, circular wooden tables, a shallow, narrow
stage complete with 1930's standing microphone and
a bar constantly scattered with empty coffee cups
and well-stocked with deli-quality sandwiches. Here
is where those citizens of New London who consider
themselves 'alternative' or 'artists' gather to drink
coffee and discuss art. All kinds of artist are welcome
here, from acoustic guitarists to experimental poets
and musicians to painters and sculptors and everything
in between.
Working as something between a coffee house, a performance
venue and an art gallery, Euterpe's almost never turns
away a painter who wishes to exhibit their work, writer
who wishes to read their latest masterpiece, or musician
who wants to sing or play there. The only unspoken
rule is that no one takes up the stage for more than
half an hour at a time, or hangs their works on the
walls for more than a week.
The establishment is run by the mysterious, beautiful
and completely mute Ambrose Constantine, a slender,
almost genderless man with hair the colour of bleached
silver and eyes the colour of sapphires.
