Two public amenities, pay phones and cash machines, are going the way of the dinosaur.

I heard the other night on the radio that the number of public phones in the United States has dropped 15 percent in the last three years. If you've got a cell phone, no need to stand before the old coin-operated contraptions. Some have fallen casualty to the war against so-called broken windows: so-called Urban Pioneers say it just helps the druggies make their deals. As for ATM machines - well, the Pioneers argue, who uses cash these days?

The Turf Restaurant and Smoke Shop, 10 blocks north of the upscaled Square, has both pay phones and ATMs. The Turf is another member of that endangered species: the diner. A place with comfortable seats and cheap, old-fashioned food. Time has darkened two letters of its big neon sign, christening the place "U F." Across the street, next to one of the few remaining Pike Street porn shops, is Lib rty Lo ns, next to A e Gro ery. In their dereliction, these signs advertise something else: this block is The Blade, the grain of grit in downtown's gleaming eye.

Here on the Blade, the Seattle's Best Coffee cafe tables are tidily encaged, a small sign bars pedestrians from setting a spell on the cold wrought-iron chairs. It seems to be a rule of thumb: the fancier the drink, the less comfortable the seat.

Anyway, we are tired of lattes. We don't want paper cups. We want a coffee pot continuously circling the room in the hand of a kindly lady. We want lightly browned toast, sliced thin, slathered with salty butter. We want to be able to select a Grilled Cheese Sandwich. Sometimes, it's nice to have someone else make your grilled cheese. It reminds you of Mom's years of hard work.

If you feel the same, venture down to Pike Street, settle into one of The Turf's throne-like vinyl booths, and sing out for coffee.

Certified old-timer Joe Martin guards the lore of The Turf's salad days. In a memorial to former owner Pat Altshuler, he wrote that "for many elderly individuals, working people, professionals, and those with little or no money who lived or worked downtown, the Turf was an eatery, a watering hole, and a gathering spot. Street folks, cops, and everyone in between were welcome."

You'll find it basically the same - still one of the few places in the whole of downtown where poor people find a comfortable berth. The waitress is not a gum-smacking white woman wearing rhinestone glasses, but a kindly Korean lady. In the grand tradition of truck-stop etiquette, she still calls her customers "Hon." The cops still come in. On a recent afternoon, a man who journeys up from his apartment in the International District browsed the local news over a cup of continuously refilled coffee.

The Number Two breakfast promises two strips of bacon, an egg, hash browns, and toast. The bacon was too dry, the scrambled eggs too greasy, but the hash browns - shredded, well-salted, and crispy on the outside - were just right. And the toast, thin and with the aforementioned salty butter, sopped up the leftover juices just fine. At $3.99, the price is right. If you're up for lunch, the reuben was quite good. And even though it's comforting to have grilled cheese, we thought $2.99 a little high for two slices of bread, American cheese, and a pickle on the side.

Perhaps you have some cash left over for pie. The Banana Cream ($2.00) is wonderfully cool and calming, with whole chunks of potassium-giving goodness infused in the filling, and a really decent crumbly crust. The coffee, just a dollar for what seems a bottomless cup, goes wonderfully with pie. You get free refills on the thick hot chocolate, too. Sit back, pore over the newspaper, and keep your cup at the ready.