From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
Clacking hooves and the wet slush of boots on the Chicago pavement drown out the distant whistling of "Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home." I’m rushing to catch the streetcar, my coat damp with sleet, while some blockhead screams about a new statue being built when my pockets are nearly empty. Everything is too dear this winter; I watched the man at the station pump charging **$0.10** for a single gallon of gas, and my heart nearly seized at the cost. I clutched my crust of bread and ducked into the crowd, the rattling iron wheels of the city sounding like a storm that never ends.