Unable to resist bib overalls, you approach the cider man.
He greets you with a twang and gestures to his wares. "All our own special blend of Brahms, Bellas, and Irmas, bat-pollinated and night harvested for extra sweetness." He takes a bite of the apple he's holding. His teeth are surprisingly sharp.
You try a sample. Rich and warm, it coats your tongue with spice. You ask for a grolwer to go.
"Which kind? Each is harvested under a different phase of the moon. For maximum effect."