The sign in front boasts 38 flavors of ice cream, but not a single scoop waited inside. What must be one of the city's last pay phones is anchored to the wall, beyond which run a row of small booths back to the rear of the equally diminutive shop, where a giant television broadcasts soccer highlights. A smaller set hovers behind the counter, tuned to an Egyptian news channel. Beneath this screen sits a modest pastry case. A few men sit quietly on barstools, gazing at their Styrofoam cups. There are cigars and cigarettes for sale. The service is curt but not unwelcoming, and the reasonably priced coffee is quite tasty.

Centerstage Reviewer: J. Tyson