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Between twilight and daybreak it is said that the dark side of the human psyche eclipses the sun that shines from the depths of our souls. Certainty turns to doubt, clarity becomes confusion, man turns into wolf, the dead wake, vampires seduce the young are restless and milk boils over on the stove.
Those that seek only to bathe in the light of a romantic new moon often end their tragic lives soaked in nothing other than their own blood, and the milk spilt on the stovetop has no one left to cry over it. There are fifty shades of grey during those hours after sunset and I think just as many in my porridge this morning.
Yes, okay, I admit it, I spoiled the milk! This porridge tastes like it was left in a graveyard overnight. Death warmed over. Gothic and lumpy. Just like the two weights of this font.
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