Bicycle Dreaming by Mridula Koshy

He said the bag wasn’t empty. There were books in the bag they were dragging. Books could survive malba, but not ashes.   Would he sell the books for pulp?   The boy looked up, and even in the waning light, his anger was clear to see.   I can read, he said.   Mridula … More Bicycle Dreaming by Mridula Koshy

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