dennis scharnberg

We forget how funny photographs are.  Inherently funny.

Trent Musgrave,  The Mystery of Sleep.

Rounders.  Actors.  Jugglers.  In the 17th century, they were still recognized as no-goods.  Like jades.

Roone Giddings,  Dirty Old Coins.

“I do know something, Jayne.  But I can’t remember what it is.  Give me a couple of days, will you?”

Brock Keefle,  Truthful Tom.

“Actually, Sam, the fish are screaming.  As they drift in the flood.”

Nicholas Crisp,  A Suitcase Fell on Her Head.

“How may we help you, sir?”  That is the internet.  That is the internet’s attitude toward me, the person.

Roger Hedgecook,  Stolen and Sold for Parts.

“How can you be certain, Eleanor?  After all, you’re suffering from amnesia.  Remember?”

Chris Marlowe,  The Phoenix Park Murders.

“I have never been ashamed,” she insisted.

“And why is that?” demanded Tom.

Diana Moone,  Living Well.

More three-word phrases:

—pack of cards

—skirt lifting episode

—old is new

—hormonally induced spasms

—that is all

—weapon of opportunity

—intractable feedback loop

—swarm of insects

—making ends meet

—going all out

Tessa Fielding and Constance Gogarty,  A Book of Lists.