I visited Seven Sisters Inn, and all I got was a gun pulled on me. But that’s OK, because I brought a spare pair of underwear. Oddly, I didn’t find the man who stuck a...

Incredibly, he wore an incredulous look on his face like he had no idea what she was insinuating. Did she just accuse him of murder? I hope she did, because I have no alibi, but...

There’s nothing like a good murder to remind us all how much love there is in the world. That’s what this guy’s probably thinking, as he stands alone and naked—emotionally, not physically—as he’s obviously wearing...

Two women passing off a note. I find it disgusting! I’ll bet it’s the love letter I wrote to one of them. Well, if she didn’t appreciate it, maybe she’s right to give it to...

The guy in the white fedora looks like he’s reading a love letter. I say that only because he looks so confused, what else could the subject matter be?

The woman in this photo can’t believe what she’s hearing. And since it’s a photo, I can’t hear what she’s not believing. I’ll bet she doesn’t believe she’s not the killer.

My feathery imagination took flight when I saw this photo. I’ll let you imagine what I imagined.

This guy looks like a murderer trying to look like a normal guy trying to look like a murder. Could he be the killer? Only if M.C. Escher is the victim.

This guy has a look on his face like he’s just realized that one day he will most assuredly die. Killing someone has a way of focusing our minds on our own mortality. I mean...

If we could all drink ourselves to innocence, I’d be guilty. And I mean that in a way that I don’t mean that.

Love is a blur. So is this picture. But what do you expect? Murder is fuzzy, like a peach. Yummy!