From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m hunched over the floorboards, my fingertips raw from tightening the cold, sharp zinc strips of my Meccano set while the brass gears of my new Lionel engine hum a steady rhythm. The scratchy wool of my stiff knickerbockers chafes against my knees, a bally nuisance compared to the smooth, lacquered wood of the toy tracks I’m assembling. Through the open window, the brassy roar of *Blaze Away* thumps from a neighbor’s gramophone, making the air vibrate against my skin like a march to war. I can’t help but grin, imagining those mutinous sailors tossing their heavy iron sights into the salt spray, feeling as rebellious as the crashing percussion of that song.