Noon in Florida

By Jim Latham

Noon in Florida delivers realistic flash fiction with no wasted words.
By turns angsty, empathetic, and eccentric, these minimalist short-short stories center on the search for connection in an unpredictable world—a search that turns up hope in surprising places.
Taken as a whole, Noon in Florida is a rich tapestry of stark realism leavened with glimmers of hope and gallows humor.
Latham's gritty-yet-lyrical prose is likely to appeal to fans of Raymond Carver, Michael Ondaatje, and Charles Bukowski.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Latham
• Release date: Feb 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215611456

Jim Latham

Jim Latham lives and writes in San Pedro Cholula, Puebla. His stories have appeared in The Drabble, Spillwords, Better Than Starbucks, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere. He publishes free flash fiction every Wednesday on Substack at Jim’s Shorts.

Book preview

NOON IN FLORIDA

AND OTHER SHORT SHORT STORIES

JIM LATHAM

CONTENTS

1. Keeping Time

2. Mermaid Palms

3. Why I Don’t Like Neapolitan Ice Cream

4. Dog Saves Man

5. Your Mom and Dad Are Trying to Save Kittles

6. Nothing Besides Good Milk

7. Hammer and Nails

8. Greener Pastures

9. To Help Someone

10. Biscuits and Sun Shower

11. Bacon Sandwiches

12. Noon in Florida

Thank You

Also by Jim Latham

About the Author

Acknowledgments

CONTENTS

1. Keeping Time

2. Mermaid Palms

3. Why I Don’t Like Neapolitan Ice Cream

4. Dog Saves Man

5. Your Mom and Dad Are Trying to Save Kittles

6. Nothing Besides Good Milk

7. Hammer and Nails

8. Greener Pastures

9. To Help Someone

10. Biscuits and Sun Shower

11. Bacon Sandwiches

12. Noon in Florida

Thank You

Also by Jim Latham

About the Author

Acknowledgments

1

KEEPING TIME

Three of us stand around Dad’s hospice bed like background singers around a microphone, but we’re not harmonizing. Not even close.

Jack and Laura are fine with Dad dying, but it makes me want to scream.

He’s had a good life, Jack says. He shrugs. Mom’s already gone…

Laura nods.

The two of them look at me with calm, thoughtful looks on their faces, like I’m a little kid and they’re the grown-ups who get to tell me what to do.

I almost do scream, but I remember I’m supposed to be making better choices and think I should take one of my pills. They’re in my suitcase. It used to be Dad’s. It’s old and heavy and has hard sides and his initials monogrammed on the leather handles. I’ve got quite a few pills. But I decide to leave the suitcase where it is, at the foot of the bed.

Laura says, "I know this is hard for you Josh, but everything that made him him is gone. Dad’s gone."

He’s not gone, I say. "He’s right here. Dad is