Type, “high end grocery stores WSJ” into the browser and you get the article. In front of the pay wall, it’s all, “A new crop of gourmet grocers has hit the city, drawing lines of trendy TikTokers, MAHA-curious health fiends and Instacart devotees who want to pop in for a treat.”

In the East Rock neighborhood, that very 2026 bucket list is almost cartoonishly satisfied by Atticus. In a moment of unparalleled synchronicity, The 1975 swooned into my AirPods with, I know some “Vaccinista tote bag chic baristas”, literally just as I was opening the door to the establishment.

You don’t need a weatherman. At the checkout counter, Atticus has a glazed artisanal bowl to support impulse purchases. Until recently the dish was filled with brightly colored pronoun pins. Xe-Xim-Xers etc.

Jarringly, yesterday, I noticed that the identity pins had been abruptly replaced with ironic-aggressive (or is it aggressive-ironic) cigarette lighters.

Says he’s got a bad cough, wants to get it paid off.