...brains... brains....

After 30 hours of travel, starting in Sydney Australia and ending up in Baltimore-not-in-Australia, and not really ever sleeping, although I wrote an article on Lost Girls for Publishers Weekly, then landed in LA and discovered it was twice as long as it was meant to be, so spent the next leg of the flight carefully throwing half of it away, I am too braindead to write anything sensible.

So I think it is time for your moment of Harry Stephen Keeler, here demonstrating his mastery of all accents.

"Av yez'll kape quite, yez'll not be hurrt," I told her. "Wan squeal from yez, though, an' Oi'll be compelled to black-jack yez."

"What do you want?" she demanded, staring at me.

"Ah, sure, we want nuthin' fr'm yer swate silf," I answered. "Only to kape yez quite till me soide-kick's finished wid the gintleman on the flure. Now come along wid me, honey, f'r Oi've got to make sure av yez, an tis the other room we'll be seekin' intoirely."

Whether my Irish brogue were convincing enough or no, I have no means of telling.

When Thief Meets Thief, Harry Stephen Keeler.

and a cellphone photograph of a Sydney shopwindow whose colours I liked...