I just want to talk for a minute about the burrow’s most confused cafe, Satchmo’s, a frequent stop on my way to the train.  The establishment is primarily a destination for the internet-deprived and roommate exhausted.  On iMac desktops in a spectrum of colors, patrons click and scroll while sipping their individually designed coffees served in their personal vessels, brandished with images ranging from corporate logo’d swag to Snoopy holding a Christmas wreath. The best thing about Satchmo’s, the muffins: blueberry and cranberry, homemade daily and served fresh from the tin.  The worst thing about Satchmo’s, the paper flyers advertising the live model drawing sessions held at 7pm each Tuesday and Thursday. Er, rather, it is the actual drawing sessions that are worse, or so I imagine. What lies beyond the cotton bed sheets that drape over the fogged-up windows on such nights, is anyone’s guess.  I prefer to remain a day-time patron. Satchmo seems like a well-meaning guy. At least, I think the smiling gentleman with dreads and a receding hairline who serves the muffins, is the cafe’s namesake. Could be the terrier drawn on the sign outside. But, come to think of it, I’ve never seen a dog at Satchmo’s, which makes me feel, just, sorry. Poor Mr. Satchmo.