On a typical day, the outdoor area just beyond the Brus bottle shop would be jammed. Twentysomethings would gather on benches surrounding the lone tree in the courtyard, puffing away on cigarettes and laughing as they down beer after beer. Bearded fellows would sit quietly at tables, pausing occasionally to thumb through their phones, seeking a temporary lifeline to break the silence. Moms and dads alike would nudge their kids’ strollers gently back and forth, their free hands gripping a fresh Session IPA from just inside the taproom. It’s become a popular gathering place in Copenhagen’s Nørrebro neighborhood. Seats are in short supply, if not nonexistent, on a beautiful sunny day.
When I stopped by, it was sunny, but not typical. No twentysomethings, no beards, no parents. The tree was still there, holding court over nothing more than the concrete beneath its shade. The coronavirus shuttered the brewery’s taproom weeks ago, depriving the neighborhood of a commodity far more valuable than beer—human interaction. Outside, the din of conversation had been replaced by a calm quiet, save for the occasional squeak of a bike pedal in need of some oil slowly rotating by.
The sandwich board out front indicated that there’s still life inside, however. It sat as far as it could towards the edge of the property, in order to pass the message from the workers inside to the cyclists breezing by: “We’re still here.”
