The short fiction of j hardy carroll
The waitress sets a cup and saucer on the counter and pours it full of a watery brown liquid Enzo assumes is coffee. She wears a faded dress with a chipped name tag he reads as she pours. Dorothy. He turns this in his mind, unsure how to pronounce it. He sips at his cup…
The whole room tilted at a steep angle. I’d noticed the corner of the double-wide was crushed like a beer can. I guess the office was a salvage job, one that’d fallen off a flatbed. I stared across the slanting desk at last year’s calendar tacked to the warped paneling. “Eleven bucks an hour for forty…