The short fiction of j hardy carroll
I went to the Jungle on the east side of the river. As I suspected, Roughhouse Red was there, all too eager to share my bottle in exchange for giving me the low-down. He took a long pull, the whiskey trickling into his grizzled whiskers. “Ooh, that’s good,” he said. “What was it you want…
The plane is rolling back from the jetway. Pushing, they call it. We’re going to push. I watch it, the chill ash of my heart drifting down to fill my entire body like snowfall into an upturned barrel. I remember my grandmother telling me that it’s bad luck to watch your loved ones leave. “You should say…
The night everything changed was one he barely remembered
Repost from 2017 for Christmas. In June of 1999 I was traveling back to Portland after visiting my father in Tucson with my three-year-old daughter in tow. We missed a connection and wound up in the Las Vegas Airport. It was my first time in that city, and in the late hour the airport was almost empty An…