It's a sparse night in the club. It could be because it's a Wednesday or it could be because of the Gyathtic demon up on the stage, attempting to growl out the words to "Danke Schoen." Doyle sits at the bar, apparently constructing a little pyramid of overturned shot glasses. The bartender brings him another full one and advises "This is the last of the Glenfiddich, sir. You've finished off the bottle."