From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My palms are stained with the waxy grease of these new Crayola sticks, a luxury I shouldn't have bought while the baker still demands a full $0.05 for a single loaf. I grip my woolen shawl tight despite the August heat, trembling at the talk of these flying machines and the gossip that we women must keep our heavy felt hats pinned firm even in the house of God. I try to tell myself I’m fit as a fiddle, but the rising cost of flour feels like a weight in my chest. If a man can fly through the sky, surely he could find a way to lower the price of a basic crust.