The frozen slush cakes my wool skirts as I squint at the ink-heavy headlines in the window; another bally train wreck in Michigan has my nerves frayed to a thread. I tighten my high collar against the wind, watching a dandy in a flat cap lug a heavy crate containing a new Lionel Electric Train, a luxury that costs more than a month’s worth of my bread.
The glare of the gaslight catches the puffed silk of a passing Gibson Girl, but all I see are the soaring prices and the terrifying speed of these new escalators. Everything is moving too fast for a soul to keep up.
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