From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The brassy blare of "Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home" pours from the open tavern door, nearly drowning out the frantic clatter of dray horses on the hot cobblestones. My word, five cents for a loaf of bread is highway robbery, and I can't help but fret as the newsboy bellows about "STEEL SHIPS FOR THE LAKES" being evidence of national prosperity. Prosperity for the tycoons, perhaps, but all I hear is the deafening whistle of progress while my pockets feel lighter. Between the rattle of the new electric streetcars and the talk of those strange hearing aid machines, the world is becoming far too loud and expensive for a simple man to keep his wits.