Last call for the cemetery woodoo tour

It's 9:45 in the morning. I'm sitting at Café Beignet on Royal Street in New Orleans reading a book, when this black woman walks in. She's in her 60's and she's wearing a big, white hat. She calls out for participants to the cemetery woodoo tour, which seems to have the café as a meeting point. A small bunch of people gathers and there are practical questions about payment and this and that. An older couple walks out of the café and, passing by the group, tells them that they're not gonna regret it, that they themselves did the tour last year. "It's not what you expect," they say.

I'm back in my book when I hear "Last call for the cemetery woodoo tour". It's the woman with the big white hat and I can see her walking out of the café where the group is waiting. "I'll join them," I'm thinking, and I put my book into my backpack and walk out of the café to catch up.

The street outside the café is empty. No group. No corners they could have turned. They completely vanished.