From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The stiff starch of my high-collar shirt scratches my neck something awful, making me crave the soft, plush fur of that new toy bear in the window. My fingers itch to trade this heavy nickel for a fresh loaf, though spending a whole bally $0.05 on bread when I could be buying sweets feels like a genuine swindle. Every time I pass the shop, I hum a bit of "Bill Bailey" and pray the old man doesn't catch me loitering in my dusty wool knickers. I’d much rather be home tinkering with those new hearing aid gadgets than worrying about some socialite's rejected carriage lawsuit.