This beer is crystal clear, as if fallen directly from the crying eyes of your guardian angel.
It is served in a chalice marked with your name, etched by a man only known as “Moonbeam,” the artisanal craftsman down the street you’ve seen melting metal in his front yard but you’re always afraid to stop and say hello.
This is convenient, because Moonbeam’s glass is personally suited for your nose so you may pick up smells of toffee, dreams not yet realized and the night air on that July 4 when you felt really patriotic and chanted “USA!” for 3 minutes straight.
You’re in luck, because with each glass Sam Calagione will sit inches away from you, staring deeply into the ocean of your eyes upon each sip. Occasionally, he’ll come close to breathe heavily on the nape of your neck, releasing unknown aromas to emphasize the 12 different hop…
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