From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The nickel I just traded for a loaf of bread feels lighter in my palm as I scan the headlines; five thousand dollars in jewels vanished at the Waldorf, and if those wealthy women aren't safe behind marble walls, what hope is there for us with the price of gas creeping to a dime? My eyes dart beneath the brim of a passing silk top hat toward the neon-bright posters for the Fair, while the incessant, tinkling refrain of "Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis" drifts from a nearby phonograph shop, mocking my thin wallet. It would be a bully day for a stroll if I weren't so convinced that every shadow in this stifling July heat hid a thief waiting to snatch my very last cent. My collar is wilting as fast as my courage, and even the new teabags I’ve tucked away feel like an indulgence I can ill afford in such treacherous times.