G'damn, all's I want to do is close down jazz nite, let's just have a quiet easy end of the night, no pushing the kitchen with late night orders, and then, even as soon as I get to work, Ali is bringing her Brazilian friends in, a group, for dinner, just about as late as you can get...  I want to get home, pack up, I gotta get on the road to go see my mom.  I need to pack.  It was hard enough to wake up and get to the car rental after the last few nights, wine tasting, etc., me feeling all this dread about me and nerves, the sense I'm about to lose everything, thanks to being a wine drinker all these years and the stupid restaurant business and being a barman and having been taken on so many rides you don't even want to care to know, and just as things seem maybe they could calm, Mr. K comes in, with his suit, his immaculate tie, there's no room at the bar, he wants to introduce me and I look blankly and people from a far away country, god, can't I just get a break here...  But I suck it up, as A and I are cranked into busy just at that evil hour when the kitchen is supposed to be closing, I shrink their chaos drinks, one old fashioned, two rose, the other young lady...  Melissa, FEMA, as opposed to Khaos other one, I get the drinks, and I'm hustling, targeted, strategic,  breathing in and out, taking my time to think and get organized before I mobilize on such a position back there in the goddamn wien room, I got them happy, but oh fuck other regulars have just shown up, lovable people, just that I've bled a lot already,...

So weird.  The  Brazilians leave, Ali, being Slavic, leaves me with the impression I have done, or am doing, something wrong...  We've ridden the last long hour and half, the downstairs waiters having left long ago now after their easy and orderly night...  Mr. Khaos invites one more of his women friends by, "is the door locked," he goes downstairs, let's her in, and this upsets some sort of equilibrium I don't know about, and now it's all even more chaos, and he comes back with the big tattooed heavy bearded guy in an orange tee shirt, and they want a Lagavulin, or some sort of Islay, and I look at 'em, as I have many times, and it's the usual prosaic collection of malts, I don't give a shit, fine, he wants the one for $21 a pop, fine, it's going on his check, all the misery he's put me through when I had other peaceable things to be going and doing...