From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning air is thick with the soot of progress, and I can hardly squint through the glare of the newsstand headlines shouting about forty-million-dollar coal combines. My five-cent loaf of bread feels lighter every week, yet I find myself humming that infernal *Blaze Away* by Abe Holzmann just to keep my nerves steady as the world accelerates into this electric age of vacuums and radio signals. The dark wool of my suit is heavy against the autumn chill, and while the coffee at the diner was certainly "good to the last drop," I can’t help but stare at the Lionel trains in the window and wonder when the common man will be crushed by all this new capital. Everything feels bright, fast, and far too expensive.