When it snows, the flakes are illuminated in the bright streetlights of 17th Avenue in front of the Thin Man. Inside, the narrow tavern glows in a crimson hue from bulbs strung across its rafters. The thick white marble bar top is lined with folks sitting in heavy wooden chairs, leaning on their elbows over steaming mugs of hot mulled spiced wine. Boisterous chatter and fuzzy garage rock from the house speakers fill the air. As the night carries on and the temperature drops, another couple shuffles in from the cold, shaking off the chill and finding a couple of seats in the corner as the cozy room gets a little bit toastier.