The Fog and the Shadows
The wrist. The waist. The black-and-white western.
The whispering thistle. The trembling vessel.
The whistle, the pistol, the whimpering waiter.
The tumbling bouncer. The pink topless dancer.
The smirk and the snicker. The flickering nightlight.
The cake in the hallway. The musical tie tack.
The reason for laughter. The negligent night owl.
The hoop and the holler. The glasses. The dishtowel.
The end of the hallway. The door with the mirror.
The firemen, the con men, the pimps and the winos.
The vase with the ashes. The girl in the closet.
The plate and the gate and the slow-dripping faucet.
The fog and the shadows. The owl on the tree branch.
The frightened prospector with holes in his pockets.
The men in the diner. The thin nervous waitress.
The pilot, the policeman, the empty light sockets.
The reason for lying. The low hanging stirrups.
The popular athlete, the girlfriend, the backseat.
The men with long zippers. The women in mourning.
The sight gags then suddenly shots without warning.