Editor's note: While the Reader Mailbag usually publishes on Tuesday, this is a letter from Stacy Lenore Reed that we received on Wednesday. If we waited until next week to publish it, it would be too late. So today we bring you a special edition of the Reader Mailbag.

The Tiramisu Connection

The laptop blinks on, the blue screen lights up, and the Internet broadband connection reads "tiramisu" and "connected." I'm plugged into the network service at Café Gutenberg, the only place my wireless seems to work. I'm sure the management has installed a virus to prevent me from spending dinner money anywhere else in town. I don't mind; I love this place like no other.

As it seems, so do a lot of others. A week ago Café Gutenberg announced publicly that it was closing. Last day, last meal, Sunday, Feb. 24. They'll serve brunch and then ... no more. Where will all these Gutenberg parts fly? The people, the books, the food, the spirits? What happens next?

Just the threat of a favorite local haunt dying has pulled ghosts from the woodwork. I am sitting in the restaurant's lower level, in a chair rescued from Gaston, at a table that was once floating five feet high across the room through storm water, and all around me people are sharing their "last meal." To my left a group of eight eats and laughs and mugs for a camera brought along to document the dying. Before they pay the bill and leave, they gather together on the far side of their collected tables, bookshelves as a backdrop, to pose for a group picture in their favorite place.

To my right, the same thing, a family and some friends, laughing, eating, reminiscing, and then a camera comes out for the final photo. It is happening all around the restaurant. It is almost heartbreaking to watch. The server tells me a bride and her bridesmaids came in earlier in the day to take wedding photos. And there are more solo laptops enjoying the room than I have ever seen in one night. Everybody wants one last goodbye.

In a sense the staff is still numb from disbelief; they still have hope that a white knight with a big checkbook and even bigger dreams will ride in and will want to call this place home. In a sense, no one quite believes the dream has only a few days left to live. They cluster behind the counter, talking low, talking high, a round of laughter breaking out, then silence. In a testament to their optimism, few have yet picked the mementos they will take.

Some things are gone already. The books sank to 50 percent last Sunday and have been selling off steadily. The for-sale coffee tins sold out immediately. The wine and beer are going, too, but they need to retain just enough stock to get them through the week. People are wondering whether and when the bookcases and tables and chairs will be sold. An MCV student who heard about the closing requested a certain small white marble table, claiming "I studied right here all through med school." Someone's successful healing is a result of that man's time behind the books in this peaceful place.

But it's over. There's no petition to sign, no protest to rally, just the desire of the staff to stay open and the reality of the day. And maybe, just maybe, the very real, very deep and "very Richmond" optimistic hope, that an investor will ride in at the last possible moment to help save this place we all love.

To share your thoughts about Café Gutenberg or to just keep in touch about where all of the people and various hosted events have moved to, you can log in to cafegutenberg.blogspot.com (and leave a comment below). There will be posts soon about what's happening and how to keep track of where the various events have moved to around the city. Even if Gutenberg itself is gone, perhaps the sense of "community" the place has fostered will survive online.

-- Stacy Lenore Reed