Is it more disturbing than polio? That’s up for the scientists and ghost hunters to decide.
[Image by Robert Glen Fogarty]

Milton didn’t speak French anymore, so the lipstick-smeared mirror’s frosty pink declaration was lost on him.
[Photo by Rich Young]

Too much wine last night. Why is this dog talking to me?
[Image by Arthur Heming]

I’m always giving up the ghost to get the babies talking about what they saw before the hereafter or the herebefore or the never mind.
[Photo by asylumoffunk]

Sweet mercy, we have come a long way in the water that formed us.
[Photo by Robert Glen Fogarty]

I’ve been meaning to get a spelling bee in order for the prodigal sons and daughters of the revolution. Revolutions mean orbit, and orbit macht frei.
[Photo by Lukas]

It’s a healthy junkyard that keeps our souls safe and pining for yesteryear, but the carnival is always going on.
[Image by A. Bergeret & Cie, shared by The Casas-Rodríguez Postcard Collection]

I’m withered from the heat of my own sweater.
[Photo by Robert Glen Fogarty]

While others made do with worrying about mundane troubles like bill collectors and presidential elections, we were on the run from devilish super-entities. THIS was exciting!
[Photo by Seth Anderson]

Blessings were easier to count when they numbered in single digits, and he constantly tried to console himself with this basic arithmetic.
[Photo by Gustavo Mandú]