He hadn't stopped by because of whatever the fried fish is going on in this crazy donkey town, but he wouldn't pass an explanation by if Magnus happened to have one. By mid-morning Frank was pretty sure he wasn't hung over or tripping on some strange side effects of that homebrew, and everyone else seemed equally perplexed but perhaps more willing to just let the madness slide.

The signage at Bespoke was hard to miss and while there wasn't exactly a spring in Frank's step, the dark rings around his eyes were a lot less pronounced than the last time they met.

He can hear the voices and the footsteps out back, but he stays obediently in the confines of the shop floor, looking around nosily at the various concoctions and other weird shish kebabs.