Небо над Тагилом (Sky over Tagil)

Smokestacks, looming over the dark faces of passersby, billow lead clouds into the air. Only aesthetes with iron nerves will find themselves drawn to this existential picture: Skies Over Tagil! Behold, a dense smoke of an imperial stout that, without clouding over all hope, breathes smog. Its bitterness will take you by the soul, but give it space and all your anxieties will be washed under. Balance, in this life, can only be found in the malt.