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Writer's picturealiya anand

XXXVII. Pringle.

The Little Martian seems startled as he stumbles into view in this tiny, tiny room.

“Ha?”

We are both quite surprised

But there is just something about today, im not sure if it’s the giddy weed, the one direction or the sunshine that explodes the cobwebs in dark corners, but something calls the Little Martian back to life.

He looks around, takes in all the green, the bare shelves, the bohemian lights, and smiles at the lightness of it all.

“Missed me?”

I toss him a pringle and grin.



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