Ptricia pushed her way in through the door, which swung smoothly back.<br/><br/>The interior was lit mainly by regular incandescent bulbs in cone shaped metal light fittings. Black and white lino covered the floor, and a variety of chairs and tables were scattered around the main area. A few were occupied by tough looking humans and anthros, dock workers you'd guess. Most of them ignore your entrance, and a couple look up for a second before returning to their meals... which are big.<br/><br/>The whole place is perfused with the smell of frying and coooking stuff, bacon and fries, and bread and onion... It makes your tastebuds howl. The guy behind the counter is a big croc with a bigger grin, and a cook's apron. Another crocodile, a young female in a waitress outfit is delivering a bill to a customer.<br/><br/>Various framed movie and music posters line the wall, along with a few metal licence plates and signs. There's a juke box in one corner, but it's currently unplugged. One of the signs says, 'Please do not ask for credit, as being the dish of the day often offends.'<br/><br/>"Hey Dee!" Ptricia nods to the croc behind the counter as she walks over. "You got any peanut butter in?"<br/><br/>"Huh, I thought you hated peanut butter?" The crocodile furrowed his brow in puzzlement. He has a thick Australian accent.<br/><br/>"I do, but my friend Chris here has a hankering for some. Vegetarian. Oh... Chris, Reizu, This is Dundee, co-owner of this place. If it holds still for more than two seconds, he can cook it. Over there is Nailah, co-owner and manager. I helped her dad set up the place when he came over from the old country... yeah, Egypt is a very old country indeed."<br/><br/>Dundee folded his arms. "When you've quite finished giving our life stories... New friends of yours?"<br/><br/>"Chris is setting up a rock band, the Cast Iron Stomachs. He's lead guitar, I'm the drummer, and Reizu is the ninja bassist. Oh, and I'll have your Breakfast of Doom special."