There is a store down the road from my new abode that never fails to fire my imagination every time I walk past it purely based on the fact that it is called The Resistance.
I’ve never seen inside the shop because I’m usually walking the other way and just catch a glimpse of it over my shoulder.I think this is a good thing because, really, there’s no way the actual shop can live up to the shop in my mind.
In my head it’s a coffee house/safe haven for hot men with stubble and berets.
There’s a one coffee and five cigarette minimum and if the inhabitants of The Resistance aren’t planning ways to overthrow the government they’re teaching me how to play poker “Eastern European style” or look dashing while wearing braces and a stained white wifebeater.
To gain entry to The Resistance you have to either know the secret knock, know the secret password or bring your own spirits.
Everybody has well-thumbed copies of intellectual books which everybody assumes you’ve read but nobody ever asks you to prove it.
Nobody seems to have any money but everyone has awesome, if shabby, clothes, and an endless supply of booze.
At night someone drags out a gramophone and plays old records while everyone gets rat arsed.
In reality it's another Vietnamese restaurant or a cruddy second hand store flogging smelly jumpers and books without their covers but in my mind it’s a pretty awesome place.