Iron Horse Cozy Sweater Outside, there’s a subtle and terrifying stillness. A quiet, wobbling drip of recent rain and things are more silent than they should be. There is a feeling of being watched and you strain the periphery of yer vision to ease your vexation. Inside, yer mind fuzzes and pills like a well worn hoody. A safe, brotherly glass of Iron Horse beer awaits you. It wastes no time in releasing it’s essence into yer life. A heavy, soothing guzzle as vacationing chocolate wafts past yer tonsils. Terrible things are far from yer thoughts. The night mashes together as one morphing memory, simply blended and administered by pint. Outside is visible through dewy panes of glass as you finish. A lightness invades yer body akin to the airy unfettered ale you’ve consumed. As you enter back into the surreal fray and beyond the friendly pub doors, the dark corners of alleyways brighten. The former stillness shudders into life. That which should not be, isn’t. The coziest of sweaters wraps itself around your mental preoccupations, hushing and lulling. Yer constitution eased and the night saved, there’s yet more holiday brew to dream of and awake to find upon the morn. -Pedro Wooly

Iron Horse Cozy Sweater

Outside, there’s a subtle and terrifying stillness. A quiet, wobbling drip of recent rain and things are more silent than they should be. There is a feeling of being watched and you strain the periphery of yer vision to ease your vexation.

Inside, yer mind fuzzes and pills like a well worn hoody. A safe, brotherly glass of Iron Horse beer awaits you. It wastes no time in releasing it’s essence into yer life. A heavy, soothing guzzle as vacationing chocolate wafts past yer tonsils. Terrible things are far from yer thoughts. The night mashes together as one morphing memory, simply blended and administered by pint.

Outside is visible through dewy panes of glass as you finish. A lightness invades yer body akin to the airy unfettered ale you’ve consumed. As you enter back into the surreal fray and beyond the friendly pub doors, the dark corners of alleyways brighten. The former stillness shudders into life. That which should not be, isn’t.

The coziest of sweaters wraps itself around your mental preoccupations, hushing and lulling. Yer constitution eased and the night saved, there’s yet more holiday brew to dream of and awake to find upon the morn.

-Pedro Wooly