Two Russians leave, crooning after having known the wonders of a vodka called bagaço.
The captain leaves without paying, horrified with the last skeleton dish that he got served with.
We’re not really sure about the dancers: they have possibly gone dancing to another neighbourhood restaurant or may have remained hidden inside the Captain’s dreams.
The boss-cock ends up roasted in the kitchen’s oven while
The cook sings, hailing his own fatal revenge blow.
And the lads stay there. They are waiting for the next customers, for the following day, for somebody to show up. They are there precisely for that, to serve, to give their time to whoever may also have time to share. Always calm and gentle. Always willing to give a little of their small ceremonies.