Trader Joe's at Last

With their puffy fall vests zipped over their orange and brown sweaters, their chucks tied loosely and their colorful canvas bags hanging from their thin frames, Brooklynites enjoy an October afternoon in the brand new Trader Joe's.  Controlled chaos.  Slow, happy, politely comfortable.  Accidentally bumping into each other's Achilles tendons with red carts, waiting for the throng to subside in front of the cheese section, sipping the creamy tomato soup samples and gazing through aisle after aisle of organic color.  One cannot be in a hurry here, they would pull out their hair in frustration with the crunchy, earth-toned 20- and 30-somethings meandering through decisions between either peanut butter or caramel filled pretzels.  Even with 18 registers, the line takes an average of 45 minutes, but that only gives us time to drink small cups of coffee and smell each other's lavender-scented hair.  People spill out as others spill in, and Joe's pockets grow deeper and deeper, money falling into them like leaves from trees.