From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m hunched over the workbench, stitching the rough mohair of my new Teddy Bear while humming along to "Bill Bailey" and feeling the stifling August heat stick my starch-collared shirt to my back. It’s absolutely capital that Father let me siphon some fuel for my motorized bike today, even if coughing up $0.10 for a single gallon of gas feels like highway robbery for a boy my age. I wiped the grease and sawdust onto my stiff wool trousers, staring at the newspaper headlines about blockades and burning towns while thinking about how bully it would be to just sail away. Gadzooks, if the air in this shop doesn't move soon, I'm going to melt right into these wood shavings.