From the day
Perspective: The Future Historian · Tactile
The rough wool of my knickerbockers scratches against my thighs as I crouch over the parlor floor, clicking the cold, painted tin of my new Lionel engine onto its tracks. I can almost feel the vibrations of the *Constitution* catching the wind in Newport, a triumph of steel and sail that makes every bolt of my Meccano set feel like a piece of the future. My father whistles "Blaze Away" while checking the ledger, grumbling that ten cents for a gallon of gas is a steep price for this changing world, though he admits the engine’s performance is good to the last drop. The air smells of ozone and the heavy starch from my high collar as I watch the tiny locomotive blur past, a metal precursor to a century I will eventually chronicle through the rust and riches left behind.