One of the many happy things that came from the opening of the Capitol Hill light-rail station in March 2016 is that it brought Nacho Borracho into my daily orbit. The bar—which is decked out in all manner of graffiti, Mexican knickknacks, and string lights—is less than a block from the station where I catch the train to get back to my house in Columbia City. After a day’s work, I almost never fail to have one or two or three drinks at Nacho Borracho before dipping into the underground. I’m home in 30 minutes.
For me, the bar not only functions as a “third space”—a location that’s between the “first space” (home) and the “second space” (work)—but also a “fourth space,” a location where you meet, by appointment, new people or old friends you have not seen in some time. I pick Nacho Borracho for such occasions because it always nixes the alcohol-enhanced temptation of calling an Uber afterward. The station is right there. I can listen to music during the trip. There are people to watch on the train. And I love the night walk from the stop: My head is swirling with booze and beats (usually by Burial or Model 500) and the few visible wandering stars in the light-populated urban sky.
