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YOU GUIZE CRAFT BEER HISTORY HAS BEEN MAED TODAY

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In case you didn’t know, there are currently 2,751 breweries operating and slanging beer on traps and blocks in the United States. This is more than all of the U.S. Breweries back in 1887 COMBINED. A lot of people have rock hard alerections when they hear this statistic and use the figure to point how CRAFT IS BETTER AND LOOK AT HOW FAR WE HAVE COME. The only problem is, think of your local breweries, all of them, not just the baller ass ones, how many of them are turning out things you are excited to drink. I have been to towns where there are a shitload of breweries that roll out the same tired ass kolsch/hef/amber/pale 4 punch all day long and it makes me wonder who told these dudes “hey, you seriously need to open a brewery, there are not enough places doing exactly what you are doing and running in the red right now, take your predictable ass Wyeast beers and pair them with some janky ass pizza, this is an excellent idea.”

MOAR BEER MAKERS IS MORE BETTER

MOAR BEER MAKERS IS MORE BETTER

I could care less how MANY breweries there are, I would rather hear about how many breweries there are that are actually 1) exceptionally good and 2) innovative. If you don’t have the first part, you don’t get to do the second, Rogue. In San Diego every asshole who can boil extract in a pot thinks he is God’s gift to enzymes and that is just one of many places where assholes reside. What ends up happening is 1) market clutter and 2) non-beer people drink a lot of lackluster offerings and think that’s what you do in the basement all night.

I guess having more options is good, but I have never walked into the 98 cent store and been stoked to see another Shasta variant of Mountain Mist, because I am not a poor needledick who drinks pedestrian offerings. The worst is when a brewery sees that everyone and their autistic half cousin is brewing so they come up with some “Lavender, chapstick, canola oil, hibiscus, pink peppercorn Dortmunder aged on retired marine vessel wood” to try and wow people inside their doors. These beers usually taste like the inside of a nutsack and then I have to deal with regular people’s tired ass allegories about “THIS ONE TIME IN BILLINGS MONTANA I TRIED A DERP SKERP ALE, IT WAS HORRIBLE, THAT IS WHAT YOU LIKE.” All of a sudden I am justifying liking the taste of testicles.

My face when I see another new brewery super stoked about their amber ale

My face when I see another new brewery super stoked about their amber ale

Less mediocre breweries, less shitty beer, or the opposite. I don’t know, I failed Algebra and I eat Totino’s Pizza rolls on the reg.

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Hill Farmstead Civil Disobedience, Taking my Liver to Obedience School to Learn Some New Tricks

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Some people might be crying and creaming their farmhouse jeans at the same time, piping up all like “buh buh buh Hill Farmstead already GOT TWO REVIEWS IN SAISON MARATHON” yeah and if you go look at the top rankings they hold a shitload of the spots, so here we are. If Clown Shoes made a dope ass saison, I would review that too, but mi cocina mis reglas. Anyway, I already sipped on CD1, 2, 3 and to the 4, so might as well sample this old gem, just to complete the set and kindle the ire of beer nerds all over the place. Here is a review of good old CD2 if you feel like you need to learn the characters and plot twists I simply can’t really dress this saison up any further, this is a blend of Ann, and two of the other highest ranked saisons that I had this year, Flora and Art. Take a wild guess how this saison stacks up in today’s review.

Taster glass drama.

Taster glass drama.

EDIT: I never had CD4.5 because I am a weak penis. Carry on.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.50% ABV

A: Despite my best efforts I couldnt ellicit a ton of carbonation out of this, but we are dealing with three double double barrel aged saisons, so that is kinda like going to the Rwandan orphanage and complaining that the refugees were less than excited. This was the first chin scratching moment to me because it had a huge golden hue to it, but it lacked the turbid elements present in both Ann and Art. In fact, the hue of it was almost translucent and didn’t have the milky opaqueness. The lacing was non-existent and it looked…almost like gueuze. Wait a second.

Sir, this is a saison.

Sir, this is a saison.

S: This is incredibly lactic and makes some of the other offerings seem outright biscuity by contrast. The nose has a deep waft of squeezed lemon rind, grapefruit, fuji apples, muscat grapes, and fresh strawberries. On the backend is arguably the most musk and funk that I have seen out of HF to date. There is a crushed yard trimmings, wet leaves, a bicycle seat that has been rained upon, and damp Jansport backpack, with the baller ass leather bottom. The chin scratching began anew when I started wondering “where are the spice and clove notes? Why does this smell like a Farmer’s Market on the nose? The saison mystery thickened.

T: Upon taking this up to my hateful gullet the tinge of acidity hit first like able pikemen. Like finding a dry cleaning receipt in a Matlock episode, this mystery started unraveling: I AM NOT SURE THIS IS EVEN A SAISON AT ALL. The taste is second only to Norma for Hill Farmstead’s lactic profile and presents white grapes, ripe pineapple, hard mango, and the acidity of a Raspberry. There was no straw or chewiness to speak of. In fact, if we are speaking as friends here, which I will readily assume without your assent: THIS IS A WILD ALE. Not a lactic saison, not a tart farmhouse, this is straight up Wild Ale, and it is delicious. If you open up your mind and approach it in that manner is leans more heavily to fresh Beatification and 2010 Cable Car than the saison fold. Styles are indicative of broad brush strokes, but I feel that this transcends the sum of its parts and turns into a tart lil Voltron of Belgian influence.

After the bottle was empty, I ate the bottle. nothing escapes the nuances of my palate.

After the bottle was empty, I ate the bottle. nothing escapes the nuances of my palate.

M: This further nails home my point about it being a AWA, the body of it is thinner than any of the component beers and has a clarity and crispness that I have seen only in something like Brassiere Blaugies. It leaves a resonating tartness along the gumline with this musky Cantillon Brabantiae funk to ruminate upon while you work your Domino’s Pizza App and think about lovers past. If Brute is a Wild Ale, then this certainly must run in that realm as well. The swallow dries my mouth like I ate a shitload of movie candy, in a good Sour Patch binge sort of way.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and the 375ml format made me need to exercise restrain, hence using the tasting glass. The musk balances out the tart aspects and makes this a completely unique entry into their catalog. I would not recommend sharing this as many of the nuances are enjoyed both cold and at room temp, but most of you are probably like “I couldn’t even land that in the first place, fuck off.” Uncle Ben once taught Spoderman that with great ISO comes great responsibility. Then a bad trader killed him. As true today as when it was written.

If it looks like a duck, walks like a dog, it is a saison.

If it looks like a duck, walks like a dog, it is a saison.

Narrative: Cosimo de Medici looked out the ornate windows, framed in gothic angles upon the teeming masses below and ran his fingers through the frills of his neckwear. The Republic of Florence had grown scornfully bitter, and Petrarch had hardly helped cool the flames by noting the sheer inequalities of the ruling class and the gross indulgences of the clergy. He bit into a tart lychee, fresh from the papal states and contemplated the burning acidity. If the pleasure of the ruling class is predicated upon the burning acidity of the masses, then when does the fruit signal its own decay. Was it the function of the ruling class to determine from whence and how the fertile seeds or productivity were to be cast? Under his regime he had blended several masters of various mediums, with startling new results. Donatello ate sour fruits and worked tirelessly on the intricate carved Feast of Herod, but from whence was his genius wrought? Cosimo nodded at the solemn gathering and felt the pangs of pride, for order creates the stability for innovation. No man is a hero to his debtor, and the artists who resented the ruling classes were the novel pits of the tart fruit, that same fruit that was consumed by the ruling classes anon.

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Alright, you bought some Westy 12, now shut the fuck up.

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Hey guys, in case you didn’t know it is 12.12.12, what an awesome day for annoying the shit out of the beer community. If you weren’t sick of seeing raindrop pours of Stone Vertical Epics split between 18 mouthbreathing neckbeards, don’t worry, today is the official Westy 12 brick release too.

Wait what are those? It’s this SUPER RARE BEER MADE BY MONKS YOU GUIZE

So fucking .rar OMG, cant believe it.

So fucking .rar OMG, cant believe it.

I am excited that regular joes in the beer scene are getting to try this quad, but I welcome them to tuck their acorn penises away and be quiet about it. The rest of us who have seen some shit in our day, the Bitzy veterans, the ones who spend blood and shell casings on trade boards, we could give a shit less. That brick is for people who

1) have a fear of Fedex
2) have mantits and disposable income
3) who haven’t taken the time to try Rochefort or St. Bernardus or
4) hip hop moguls with diabetes

The rest of us don’t give a shit. You know why? We are too broke from buying things like Murda’D out Stout, Keene Idea, BA Speedway, Cable Car, BA Wee Heavy, Birth of Tragedy, and other amazing beers that wont be gifted by lazy assholes who wear Tommy Bahama shirts and Nextel phones on their belt buckles.

Granted, Westy IS GOOD, that is well tread ground, I think I covered that shit A WHILE AGO but why no bricks of WESTY 8? does no one give a shit about that beer?

A child develops a learning disability every time you post a picture of beer no one gives a shit about.

A child develops a learning disability every time you post a picture of beer no one gives a shit about.

The only good thing about this release is that maybe that absentee stepdad will give you something hyped up that is actually good, instead of a janky ass bottle of Rogue Maple Fetus Creampie Ale, or whatever.

Oh also, fuck pictures of Pappy 20/23/whatever. Just because you drink beers that came from those barrels doesn’t mean that we want to see your shiteating grin like you know someting about bourbon. If you look like you would consistently fail the mile in P.E., you probably aren’t the target bourbon market.

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7venth Sun Saison Extreme, TAKING YOUR FARMHOUSE TO THE XXXXTREME!!! DO THE BELGIAN DEW!

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Happy 12.12.12, make a wish if you happen to be a 13 year old girl, or someone who is creaming his jeans for some Stone release. For those of you who are knee deep in trade bullet casings, ducking in the trenches and lobbing Cable Car grenades, you know about 7venth Sun. You know about their 30 bottle runs, you know they have those banging Berliners that Funky Buddha and Wakefield had been pumping in the streets; but what about their Saisons? We already looked at Swamphead to see what the business is, but what about an even smaller brewery that is burning up the underground like Mike Jones? Let’s see if Florida can slang hot beats in today’s review:

Get your Ecto Cooler and Gogurt, this is gonna get exxxxtreme

Get your Ecto Cooler and Gogurt, this is gonna get exxxxtreme

7venth (Seventh) Sun Brewery
Florida, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 8.50% ABV

A: First off, I had this in both the growler and in one of the (~30?) bottles, but I sent one of those bottles to a solid homie, so this is ONLY a growler review, ya dig? Well, I cannot say that this is extreme in the saison world, it actually seems refined and gentle like a John Updike novel. Run Farmhouse Run. The carbonation was still pretty generous considering the cross-contiental journey. The color was a light copper bordering on dark gold with nice lacing that streaked the glass like so many BIFs that I have seen.

This beer is refined and yet savage at the same time.

This beer is refined and yet savage at the same time.

S: The nose was extremely spicey and had a light touch of fusel elements, YOU KNOW ABOUT THOSE DAMN FUSELERS. There’s some white pepper, clove, and a touch of that sweetness you smell in Djarum smokes. There is a bit of musk but it really made me wish that I had the Brett version of this, BRETGERS CANT BE CHOOSERS.

T: This is a fairly standard execution in that it presents a nice wheat grist to it, a bit of lavender in a way, the clove and honey aspects are preserved, and this deep floral aspect like I just made love in a pastoral thicket to a woman or a confused young man. However you like it. It is tough to really pick this apart because this is essentially the Nissan Altima of saisons in that it presents all of the things that are required, doesn’t go apeshit on ABV or extremely lactic, no barrels were involved, no one has a black eye or torn Juicy Couture sweat pants. All is well.

Ehhh...noooo....Mr. Saison no es home...

Ehhh…noooo….Mr. Saison no es home…

M: This is slightly dry but there are enough residual sugars to sustain the day. The floral aspect lingers on but not in a hoppy manner, just a sort of hibiscus dipper in agave nectar sort of execution. Reviewing this beer is tough because it is like when someone goes “Was Wicker Park good?” and you be like “ehhh, it wasn’t bad, but I don’t see it landing on AFI’s top saisons list” and the metaphor gets all diced up.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and masks the ABV well, despite the slight tinge of heat on the nose. There is a variety of the old saison favorites, with a subtle twist, like the difference between No Strings Attached and that other movie that was exactly the same, released the same year. It is not like Paul Blart: Mall Cop and Observe and Report where one is clearly shittier, this is a solid saison that would warm your heart if only 1) you could find it and 2) you weren’t such a jaded beer ticking asshole.

Theft never gets anyone anywhere.

Theft never gets anyone anywhere.

Narrative: Adelbrecht Herjj was having a hard time adjusting to his contemporaries in Jacksonville, Florida. For starters, he was a pasty white obese Belgian man who looked not unlike Tintoretto. For seconds, he was not a Jaguars fan, nor did he even understand the basic tenants of the violent American past time. Santaesque or not, he moved to Florida clutching the American Dream, knowing that Florida was one state where liberty reigned and Deomcracy was truly pure. Adelbrecht wished to move to the Sunshine state and start his very own farmhouse, complete with apiary and meadery. Things started off rough when the corrupt Jacksonville government fined him for unlicensed zoning, water usage, and reindeer breeding. The last item was largely overlooked, but the problems still remained. Adel set out his koelship tanks and exhaled in dismay, “THINK ADELBRECHT, what do the Americans like…” he looked askance and saw a CornNuts package with a menacing character on the label, questioning his extremeness. “EXTREMENESS! That is IT!” The sleepy Belgian brewery overnight became an X-Games sensation when he let BMX Legend Dave Mirra carve hardcore in his Brite Tanks. His saisons were also XXXTREME when he decided to serve them IN A ROLLERBLADE. In summer months, partons were free to climb the grain silos and base jump off the roof into spent grain. Things became distinctly EXTREME and Belgian at the same. Damn. Time.

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MYSTIC BREWING SAISON DOUBLE HEADER, As if saisons did not give enough head already

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Well today I am doubling down on the saisons and taking two Mystical products to the dome to determine which mystic generates the most pleasure units. Shit is getting pretty Jeremy Bentham up in here real quick. I took their regular Mystic Saison as a control group and then took the Mystic Saison Asterix as the crazy ass variable. WILL PUTTING A SAISON IN A BOURBON BARREL HAVE FAVORABLE RESULTS? Today we take the Pepsi challenge to find out if regular or extra bourbon fried is the best variety of farmhouse.

Slanging hot rhymes, Mystikal Sasizon

Slanging hot rhymes, Mystikal Sasizon

Mystic Brewery
Massachusetts, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.00% ABV

THIS IS A GOOD SAISON!*
*you knew this joke was coming

Mystic Brewery
Massachusetts, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 7.80% ABV

Appearance:

REGULAR

This is about as dark as a saison can get in my book before I start calling Shaun Hill and asking if any stray bottles of CD4 escaped. This is damn near light brown and the golden hues that I look for in normal saisons are overtly absent like Korean high schoolers during the math olympics. The carbonation goes to the almost excessive level where I can go beat someone’s ass in Marvel vs. Capcom and return before I can actually drink it.

BOURBON FRIED

This looks much closer to what I am looking for in terms of that radioactive radiance that those baller ass saisons exhibit. I cannot understand how being left in a BOURBON barrel made the visual tones lighter, but I don’t have Beakman’s Laboratory to test this out. The carbonation is ratcheted back and Francis Bacon nods approvingly at this experiment.

Winrar: BOURBON

Reviewing two completely different saisons? Do it for them.

Reviewing two completely different saisons? Do it for them.

Smell

REGULAR

I get some tartness from this like pear and jazz apples, there’s a sweetness on the backend that comes across like honey or maybe a kind of stevia kinda of thing going on, but it seems to work given the fact the malt is absolutely nowhere to be found. All in all, pretty legit, but this confused maltsexual needs to make a decision whether it wants to be a burly wheaty guy or a supplicant tart beer.

BOURBON TASTY CRISPY

This is like peeling out in a TransAm on wet Massachusetts roads, the olfactory is all over the place with no regard for safety or control. you get that same pear and lemon aspect from the normal but oh wait, here comes waist size 46 BOURBON SMASHING THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYTHING. It seriously takes anything delicate that was going on above and just turns things into this weird hybrid, like in a threesome when people start crossing defined boundaries. I don’t want my vanilla beans touched while I am working on this honeysuckle.

Winrar: REGULAR

skull these two bottles back to back and you will be like-

skull these two bottles back to back and you will be like-

Taste

REGULAR

This comes across as a pretty straightforward affair, albeit, all of those fruits and edible arrangements that I was promised at the outset turned into mushy wet biscuits, Grands rolls, honey, a bit of lemon ring, cracked black pepper, and a light musk like 8th graders in PE. I mean, my memory of 8th grade, I dont, I dont go to Junior Highs and- wait what

BOURBON BBQ

This is one of the worst saisons that I tried during this Saison marathon/month. I am not faulting this for being off style, because it is so off style it is like wearing plaid pants that don’t even go with themselves. I enjoyed the taste of the regular beer, but this bourbon interplay just ruins things for everyone. It is like that bully that takes the saison ball and tosses it onto the neighbor’s roof. It is the Biff of the saison world. Saisons usually exhibit a gentle flowery wheat profile, this is a burly saison that is tatted and converted the Islam after its long hard vanilla/caramel experience in the barrel. I end up fearing it more than loving it, just like all my other healthy relationships.

Winrar: Regular, the bourbon only hits me because it loves me so much.

I got two awesome saisons in the same box and was like-

I got two awesome saisons in the same box and was like-

Mouthfeel

REGULAR

This is drying but the residual sugars provide a base for this beer to try a few fakie stalls balancing between both sticky and drying at the same time. I don’t think that it executes either particularly well. If Hill Farmstead E. is the driest saison this side of Soy and Clos Preal is the stickiest juicer that we know, this tries to roll with both crews and gets jumped in by rival gangs.

BOURBON HONEY

This makes no mistakes about what is going on here, the bourbon is gonna dry your sweet zones out with booziness while the funk will keep hitting deep on the bitter zones. While is seems masochistic, I like being worked over by these two at the same damn time and the result actually reminds me of something like a weird Wheatwine like Syx or White Chocolate. If you are honestly down for a hybrid like that, you might dig this, this was my favorite part of this beer. It is like getting dome with your own retainer in, you are all like, “why do I still have my retainer in?”

WinRar: Bourbon Baby Back.

BOURBON OR REGULAR GIVE ME ALL YOUR SAISONS. Hungryhungry tickers.

BOURBON OR REGULAR GIVE ME ALL YOUR SAISONS. Hungryhungry tickers.

Drinkability

Regular

The carbonation is just outright annoying and would make even Hiver blush at the mousse levels that are presented. Even the head brewer of Upland Lambics would be like “hey guize, let’s calm down on the carb.” The result is you are constantly losing parts of the experience to massive burps, gassiness, and it takes up precious space in my saison hole (mouth, this time.) Ultimately, I did not want a ton of this simply because I was like those dudes on the Mucinex commerical, getting blown up like Ultros on FF3. If you get that reference, we are instafriends.

Bourbon Ginger

This is a tough one for me because I did not want to drink a lot of this due to the weird hybrid thing going on, but I feel like if the abv was higher and it was not marketed as a “refreshing” style, it would do well in the realm of a BA Tripel. If offered both, I think I would choose the regular version because the vanilla/oak/coconut aspects mixed with wheat and apple just are hard to reconcile, like Bieber and Selena, everyone is just ashamed you know about it.

OVERALL WINRAR

I would say if all things are considered, save the effort and seek out the Regular Mystic Saison, unless you like rubbing topical creams on your perineum, then go for the bourbon, the heat and tingling is exciting and new.

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2008 Odonata Saison, Retired Beers from Retired Brewers into a Liver that Should Have Been Retired

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Sometimes we have to brush away the dust and look deep into ourselves and the past to analyze the deep perverse obsession with saisons. Only by confronting one’s own anechoic shortcomings can you really understand how good a saison is, feel me? If you know anything, you know about the revered Odonata Brewery, the hatchery that created the ultra famous Rorie’s (wh)Ale. So I figured I would excavate an old gem in today’s review to see where we have been, to figure out what the future will bring. As a side note, I went into Blue Palms Brew House and ordered the FW16 and the bartender asked me if I wanted 10 through 15 to go with that, not being a complete fucking idiot, I said yes as fast as my fat gluttal jowels could produce the sound. After I tried a few of that epic vertical, I spun some yarns with the cellar manager and he noted that he had “a really old saison” that I might enjoy. Next thing I know he busted out this archaic gem and shit got antediluvian faster than you could Ctrl+T that word. Thanks to Blue Palms for making a lil ticker’s dreams come true.

You can be the first to let me know that this is in fact a shitty picture. Be that guy.

You can be the first to let me know that this is in fact a shitty picture. Be that guy.

Odonata Beer Company
California, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 6.40% ABV

A: This beer has a nice radiance not unlike the fleece that some Argonauts once sought, a deep gold meets a sort of dull amber that is not exactly milky/turbid, nor is it as clear as some pasteurized saisons would let on. The carbonation for a 5+ year old bottle was so excessive, the bartender demonstrated this by agitating it after pouring it into the tulip and making a foamy malfunctioning dishwasher mess all over the bar. Shit was so cash.

This beer is a strange merger of old and new cultures, with fascinating results.

This beer is a strange merger of old and new cultures, with fascinating results.

S: This rides side saddle largely due to its age and I can imagine that when this first came out it was a straightforward dry honey affair but the beer that it has evolved into is even more fantastic. I get a series of apple skins, anjou pear, biscuit malt, straw, the brett C is refined and seems to serve as a keystone for the ballustrade to support the hay aspects in a subtle way. Part of me wants to raise an eyebrow at the AWA aspects of this, but it gives me a gentle pat on the back and lets me know everything will be ok.

T: This is not as lactic as the nose would lead you to believe, but then again not all Mormon girls are as freaky as they say. Some things just need to be empirically confirmed. There is a light lemon aspect to this that works well with the wheaty chewy profile. I don’t get a whole series of fruits and tarts that I was hoping for but I will say that this beer will absolutely disappear from your glass like cologne and ipods from a high school party. There is a lingering aspect of chardonnay dryness but I suspect that was due to the cultures that I poured in later in the glass, there was no barrel work here and, as Dan Olson would say, “This shit did not even go into a barrel ©”

When someone hooks me up with an old ass saison just to see it reviewed, that pleases me.

When someone hooks me up with an old ass saison just to see it reviewed, that pleases me.

M: This is chewy while it is in your mouth but immediately dries out the palate and makes room for larger flavors in the lingering aftertaste. If you are accustomed to the realm of Dupont offerings, imagine that but then add a white grape and tannic dryness to the backend that resonates like sobs in the dorm room of an overweight Starcraft fan. Construct additional pylons for your palate.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and I merked this bottle pretty quickly. There is absolutely no alcoholic presence to this and the only real “problem” with this beer is the dryness and the excessive carbonation. When you take a sip it expands like those “just add water” shitty toys in the cereal aisle. As a result you are constantly mowing through the foam, trying to keep the gas down like getting Indian food on a first date. It is hard to fault a beer for my own rampant alcoholism, but, here we are.

This is not the biggest saison, but it is tough and weathered from a half decade of farmhouse aging.

This is not the biggest saison, but it is tough and weathered from a half decade of farmhouse aging.

Narrative: In a new wave of hysteria afflicting the youth of Boca Raton, wealthy young people had taken to body modification to strange new heights. When plugs were no longer in vogue, and surface piercings seemed to be a throwback of the days of the tired old Taking Back Sunday, the freshman class of Lynn University took to dangerous new procedures. It was September and the first fraternity parties were in full swing, the redolent smell of earth and stomped wheat lingered in the air, amongst stale alcohol and teeming hormones. Will Jacobs was working the door of his fraternity, half drunk on wheatgrass and everclear shots, accepting the paltry donations to the house, keeping Asian people out, things of that nature. A stunning young woman walked up with a retinue of attractive friends, each with their hands outstretched for a wanting “X” of approval from the ducal sharpie, validating their existence. Something was amiss. Will branded each in turn with the mark and the blonde haired girl who smelled of DKNY delicious, apples, and waterpark afternoons. “I need your hand, give me it.” Will commanded with a light buzz and the sounds of Juicy J resonating from inside. “Will, just let it go, leave it,” one of the other girls protested, her ill fitting BCBG dress pushing up to awkward heights. “LISTEN, mi casa, mis reglas, I need to see that RIGHT HAND, nothing else will do-” Will demanded and gripped her cold wrist. He felt a sharp whirring and the crinkling of thick plastic. “GOD DAMNIT WILL-” her friends protested and she pulled away the sheath to show her newest bodily modification, a cybernatic hand, the newest model from Skynet, the rage of the post-hardcore/Suicide Girls scene. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? DRAW THE X ON THE EXPOSED TRANSISTOR, you fucking assho-” she sobbed and wiped her face with a titanium finger that tasted of apple and honey lotion. The steps across the lawn and the whirring of a fresh penumatic compressor lingered in Will’s heart, and he knew that autumn was upon him, the past rushing forward, strangely developed in a new manner that he was unaccustomed to. He wanted to grip that hand and walk proudly with her on the promenade and win her prizes from a milk jug ball toss. That was all ruined now, as his failure to appreciate the past had denied his future. He seriously could not understand why a girl would think it was hot to have bionic implants, but this was Florida, a state where girls got countless stupid piercings and hummingbird tattoos.