Don’t stop believing

Summer 2022 was when I founded Mel’s Diner—which was founded in 1947—as my regular spot for writing, people watching, and devouring the most lavishing milkshakes there are, while in a state of an artistic reverie.

And what a milkshake it was! A regular highball glass portion but served with an extra leftover in a tall tin cup— dinner kind of abundance. Waiters and waitresses here were not just old, but timeless, frozen in a period, stepped out of some happy 50’s family advertising.

Opened till midnight on most weekdays and till three in the morning through the weekends, Mel’s Drive-In would turn resplendent with all kinds of gaiety characters when evening fell. Oblivious Gen-zs in packs, gays and drags, bikers, and an occasional celebrity. 

Whenever I’m here I must have quarters on me. I feed one to an authentic Rock-Ola, shuffle the song cards and start the sentimental sequence of my restless romantic heart: Eagle's “New Kid In Town”, Fleetwood Mac’s “ You Can Go Your Own Way” and Journey's “Don’t Stop Believing”. These oldies were blasting through the tiny speakers while I was plunging through the heavy cloud of my drink, traveling with my keen eyes  over the faces and outfits. And just when Steve Perry started hitting the high note of his journey, I locked my eyes with a surfer-looking guy sitting in the booth at the furthest to me corner.

His lips were moving elusively, unconsciously, following the poetry we were all binded with “...Streetlights, people…” His eyes found mine, and after a beat two sheepish smiles reflected on each other, “Livin’ just to find emotion, Hiding' somewhere in the night”.✦