Prego Restaurant

Paulo has just enjoyed his fabulous meal of Capellini al Pomodoro at Prego, the restaurant. He pays the bill and makes his way toward the bar. Everyone admires him. Or so it seems to Paulo. He is on the prowl. He is a cat, a panther. He is ... Paulo. He waves to the Prego staff and calls them by name. Giancarlo! Giuseppe! Roberto! They do not answer. These are not their names. But Paulo is pleased. He believes he has made am impression on the leggy brunette perched at the end of the bar. She is kittenish, thinks Paulo. But I am the bigger cat. A lion, thinks Paulo. She looks up. What is that she sees? It is the blueness of his eyes? The strength of his chin? No, it is the spinach caught between his teeth. It has been there for hours. Prego. Union Street. San Francisco. See. Be Seen. Be seen eating.