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Born of dark and cold and snow in the marrow of the northeast’s longest night, HOWL comes in on wailing winds with winter-weary eyes burning holes in sunless shadows. In its darkened depths out inner voids are warmed.
Dark and opaque with a fairly thick head. Lots of coffee in the aroma. Lots of roasted flavor. That’s pretty good. (As an aside, my wife likes the label.)
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