Your guests
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It's 1957, and the Starlite Diner is celebrating ten years of neon out on Route 9: bottomless coffee, cherry phosphates on the house, the jukebox stacked with everybody's song. Then the music stops, and the diner's midnight regular is slumped in booth one for good. The interstate is coming, the town's secrets are already here, and one smiling face in this diner is a killer. Order up.
Step into the world →
Welcome to 1957. The war is over, the cars have fins, and the diner is where Cedar Bend actually happens. Talk the talk: "the usual" is sacred, a "phosphate" is a fizzy fountain drink, "burning rubber" is showing off, "flip your lid" is losing your temper, and "the man in booth one" needs no other name. Etiquette: you tip the carhop, you never sit in a regular's seat, and whatever you heard at the counter stays at the counter (it never does). Dress: poodle skirts and saddle shoes, letterman jackets, rolled cuffs and pomade. The mood is bright chrome over old grudges.
Count your guests only — not yourself, anywhere from 6 to 32. Want to play too? There's an option below once you pick a number.