It’s a night so cold that breath crystallizes even with roaring fires at both ends of the saloon. The wind is howling full tear outside, rattling against the wooden latch. It would be murder to try and shut the door. Not that there are many patrons, only a few shivering at tables and a man with an unlit cigar tapping his gloved fingers on the counter.
Corvus oculum corvi non eruit- Sighted Crows in a Desert of Rime – Moodboard