The search for the winner of this year's Meager Puddle of Limelight Award for Best Opening Line continues with Heat Two.
There are eight heats in all. The winners from heats one - seven go straight through to the final. The second place finishers battle it out in heat eight to see which title joins the others in the final round.
What's at stake?
Bragging rights for the winner, an interview and/or guest post here on An Englishman in New Jersey, as well as signed copy of my book, Fur-Face, and a couple of I are a writer! pens.
I think you can vote using Facebook, but if you need an LJ account, they're free).
From the following list, please select any opening lines which you think should progress to the final round
The first time Becca Sommers mentioned Spanish class to me it surprised me - partly because I didn’t know Becca took Spanish, but mostly because she had just that moment slid her hand under my tee shirt and raked my chest hair with her fingernails.
The dead philosopher came out of his cavern only when both the moons of Mars were below the horizon.
Gnarled branches sway and undergrowth snaps as a dark figure makes its way through the overgrown forest.
Great, black rainclouds boil, seething with moisture.
Hands against the foggy glass, Ian looks out watching the drips cascade down the bay window in his apartment.
He saw the armor-plated iguana which had jumped through the open window onto his cluttered desk staring at him through heavy lidded eyes when he returned to the living room of the rented house on Sausalito Boulevard.
He was primed: not sure just what he was looking for but alert to the possibility of finding it.
I balance on the bent I-girders sticking from the Empire State Building, enjoying the view like only the sophistica can.
I gag on the scent of fear wafting through the air.