The short fiction of j hardy carroll
The tiger is a leopard with painted stripes applied while he sleeps he never wonders about these new markings so like the shadows of the bars of his cage where keepers feed him more than he can ever eat, the stench of the rotting carrion assumed to come from him When told the tricks a tiger…
“Ten seventeen,” says the lady. She’s real old, maybe too old to be working. “The sign said the hats were ten bucks.” “That’s right, and with tax it’s ten seventeen.” “Ten is all I have,” I say, looking at the pile of torn singles and dirty change on the counter. “Plus, I’m already wearing the…