Camilo Market

This is a very well stocked, very clean and friendly liquor store with good prices from what I saw.
I’ve never seen so much liquor, wine and beer before in my life. With the amount they’ve packed in to this relatively middle-​sized establishment, you will think you’ve walked into an adult magician’s hat, save for the rabbit. It’s like a vortex into a land where the walls are made of your favorite (and not-​so-​favorite) vodkas, whiskeys, scotch, rum, tequila, etc etc etc. With all that booze, it’s amazing this establishment can stand straight.

Their prices are lower than other stores. I buy inexpensive wine every Friday night, and they have a good selection. Nice people.

My new go-​to neighborhood liquor store spot.
Spotlessly clean.
Bright and shiny. Very pretty.
INCREDIBLY and SURPRISINGLY WELL stocked. Lots of different wines and beers (and spirits).
Great, friendly staff!
Located across the street from the Jackson Square Orange Line T Station, directly across the street from the Bromley-​Heath (errr) Development, and caddy cornered from the Jamaica Plain Stop & Shop grocery store.
Customers straight off the internet «I can’t believe this ish really goes down» special sites (plus a few from each of these groups, at different times– urban hipster, wanna-​be urban hipster, buppie, yuppie, crunchy Whole Foods/​Trader Joe’s shoppin’ types thrown in for good measure)! Bwahahaha!
Nice spot, deserves patronizing!

Shit show.
Leaving the Jackson Square T stop, I spot Camilo Market and realize I need me some ciggabutts for my night out on the town… ya know… takin’ names, breakin’ hearts.
I venture across Centre Street, the land of Frogger and broken wine bottles, and step inside the freshly painted and acceptable-​for-​JP looking establishment.
Shit show.
Two lines have gathered at the counter. Every single person has a bottle or case of some booze in their hand. Nobody is buying groceries tonight. There’s a homeless man sleeping on the KENO table to my left. There’s a mother and son (or really ugly couple) counting every last coin from their pockets to pay for the two cases of beer they’ve grabbed. «Mr. Quincy» has arrived wearing a new hat – people are making fun of him. It’s tan with built in ear muffs. He laughs and has fantastic teeth, but saunters around me a little too close for comfort. Sorry «Mr. Quincy,» we’re not there yet.
Shit show.
The clerk spots my distress, «This boy is in the WRONG place» I’m sure is what he’s thinking. He waves me forward ahead of both lines. Nobody seemed to notice though, as this store is like the stairs outside a church on a Sunday. People gathered, laughing, smiling, and chit chatting. Standing next to the mother/​son/​ugly couple, I ask for my Marlboro Lights, «bitch butts» if you will. I pay the man, I walk by the hobo who is now awake, and leave Camilo.
I watch «Mr. Quincy» cross Centre Street happily carrying his booze, flashing his pearly whites. The neighborhood kids spot his new hat. «Mr Quincy, you look like a fool,» they shout.
What do I think of shit shows? Unilocal review GOLD.