Anyone who doesn't like willow house should be taken out back and shot... or at the every least bared from ever returning.
In the world of impersonal bravia-venti-tazo-breve-who-gives-a-fuck-shit-tasting trendy coffee slung by people who don't know the difference between drip and press an independent art house-esque bohemian bastion of sanity serving great coffee should be lavished with praise. I can not tell you how many nights i have spent here, at least once a weak for open mic night at which the young Dylans of the phoenix music scene would come to play song after song to a packed room. Now this was no "Lilith Fair woman singing about her blooming flowers" open mic night but rather a collection of some of the more talented artists not signed to record labels. Itunes Andrew Jackson Jihad, an amazing indie band no one has heard of and they would always be there to melt our faces with folksy goodness. There was local art and handmade products for sale everywhere, some nights they would screen movies, you could curl up in the dark with some tea and a cute girl watching a good flick. Some of my better phoenix memories are found here accompanied by close friends immersed in the closest i have come to being part of any "art scene." Willow literally embodied the bohemian spirit or as close as anything can come in our corporately mandated times, I am not sure if it moved or closed but it wouldn't be the same even if i tried to go back anyways, you cant ever go back.