From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The scratch of this heavy wool collar against my neck is absolutely bally, especially while I’m trying to keep my Gibson Girl pompadour from collapsing in the wind. I’m clutching my new Kodak Brownie, feeling the cold, pebbled leather grip as I wait for Father to finish complaining about paying $0.10 for gas to keep the carriage lamps burning. My corset is pulled so tight into an S-bend that I can hardly breathe, but the silk of my skirts feels divine as it rustles against the frozen ground. I just want to head inside, escape these bickering doctors and their talk of health boards, and listen to "A Bird in a Gilded Cage" until my ears ring.