
Bam Noire, dark farmhouse ale, leaf-strewn paths cut into Metropark glacial moraine, drying out in the light of the moon, plump fruit decay, Dexter alleys, hayride with a girl you loved and never told her, foam like that piled against stones on a tannin-colored stream. It flows through you you watch it flowing, black spark in the glass, preserved lemon water, a sharp knife and the flesh beneath it.
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