MEET THE LITTLE MARTIAN

The Little Martian looks at me sadly from the blue patchwork bedspread that spreads cheerfully across my taut wrought-iron bed. “What’s wrong?” “Everything.” “My brain,” he continues, eyes ablaze; “my brain is melting and my soul has fled.” “What does that even mean?” Concern threatens to envelop me, but I remind myself that this is the Martian I am talking to. He is probably just being dramatic, probably just blowing things out of proportion, as usual. He isn’t a person, rem

chapter 102 maybe , I cant read roman numbers anymore, can you? "Hatching Like Turtles In The Dust." The little martian finds me on the second floor of an abandoned office building. I suppose abandoned  is the wrong word to use for this — the building is full; it is I who have abandoned it. I sit, shattered, tear-stained, and in a too-big company hoodie, willing my blue Trinity thermos to refill itself with black coffee — like that magic cooking pot that never ran out of por

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VG2kL4ojylk : listen to Dolly croon as you read. The Little Martian walks into an empty house.  “It ain’t no home no more, ’tis just a house,” he sings, like a caricatured mammy from a bad Southern novel. “What’s with the voice?” “I don’t know. These country roads just bring out something in me,” he laments, looking out at the land with a wistful gaze. “Dehradun is the capital of Uttarakhand. We aren’t exactly out in the Wild, Wild West, you

The little Martian naps in a hidden corner of his office. The sweet, acidic aftertaste of burnt office-machine coffee sits sleepily on...

The Little Martian contemplates. He taps his sandaled foot against his swiveling high chair, irritating all the cool, creatively dynamic,...