The short fiction of j hardy carroll
these children I’m defending innocent and beautiful circle us elder so concerned that we see but rarely ask honestly or just do something. better to ask forgiveness than permission. these children guessed and we, so much wiser told them what was true since down we forgot as up we grew.…
The old man wasn’t dead twenty-four hours when they started staking the land. The son had spent some years getting ready for the day, cutting deals with developers, drawing up maps of the various parcels, filling out the paperwork. Development. That’s their word for when they down whatever was here and build some godawful boxes…