From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning sun glints off the new brass windshield wipers on the motor-car outside, a capital invention that surely costs more than my soul is worth. I clutch my coin purse tight, staring at the grocer’s hand-chalked sign where a single loaf of bread has climbed to $0.05; at this rate, the common man will be starved out by autumn. The headlines scream of "social origins" and "primitive law," making me wonder if we aren't all reverting to savages in these stiff collars and heavy wool suits. Everything feels precarious, as if the very world is as fragile as those paper boxes of new wax crayons the children are clamoring for.