Sketches of Mello's Bistro

Walking down the street, one is greeted by the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafting from Mello's Bistro. But upon entering, the place is virtually empty. A waif-model-turned-waiter is polishing glasses at a back table. He doesn't bother looking up as I enter. Looking around the dining area, posters of Pele and Beckham adorn the walls. A dog-eared copy of The Communist Manifesto sits upon a nearby counter. A Flock of Seagulls plays low on the stereo. The room's meditative quality is disrupted only by the muffled commotion coming from next door at Damone's Bar. It sounds like a biker gang has just pulled up out front. I think I'll wander over there.