facing south, come what clouds do once they might The drovers and the porters, a couple dukes and a few round cousins are in shift blues. They're usually at the bar but not today because the long counter is a deck for greasy glasses and pork smelling beer in briny jugs. I got Agatha's for a song and some beads this morning. Betta still made out like invincible. I watch as the blue men in the their short suits reach over one another. The beers free and still they rub each others tufted heads to ward off the bad pints. I’ve had about 8 full days to rub my eyes, yawn, and watch my mother bleed out. This morning I was at Standard Manor and I’ve had The Old Potter’s Tree stuck in my head for hours. I blink back some floppy tears and think, It's only the beer. It could be the beer, I tell myself. Really, it's the really awful beer, I turn and say to Betta. Then Monstre Frango walks by. He steps up and taps the microphone resolutely. He tells the blues, Frango is too...