What a mess. What a stupid mess. Though, don't beat yourselves up over it. I didn't catch how much of an alcoholic Ms. Barre was either. I knew there would be some Scotch in her blood, of course, but not so much as to ruin our admittedly ill-conceived plan.

Well, this might be the most reckless thing I've ever done. Or, second most reckless? I trapped her. The Vile.

What an utter failure, eh?

Ah—yes, if you haven't yet heard, Ms. Sandiego is going to be leaving New Orleans for the far foreseeable past, present, and whatever-willing future.

We don't know the full scale of Ms. Sandiego's "body of work" and our counter-cocktails are woefully inadequate to deal with it directly. But what would you all rather do? Nothing for a whole week? Seriously? We're baristas, we must do something.

We know who Requiem's next customer will be: Nico "Nickels" Costigan. As far as I'm concerned, he's already booked his brunch with us.

It's quite an eccentric city, no? More problems than I could ever count and all precociously balanced between the Old Voodoo Families—and the New; well, them, and now the Cafe and Diner: Requiem. Fourth or fifth oldest of the Cafes… depending on how you look at it. Sister Cafe to Midnight and holder of the ever karmically conundrumic Cane of Fate.