From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The stiff starch of my detachable collar chafes my neck, a miserable price to pay for a Sunday afternoon spent humming "Meet Me in St. Louis" while fiddling with the smooth, painted wood pieces of Land’s Lord. I can hear Father huffing over the paper about that **Standard Oil Inquiry again; report says agents have been instructed to begin investigation**, and gadzooks, I hope they squeeze those tycoons until the price of kerosene stops bleeding his pockets dry. I run my thumb over the coarse, linen weave of my sack suit, wishing I could trade this formality for a rougher wool and a trip to the fair. For now, I’ll just sink into the velvet armchair and lose myself in the ink-scented pages of my nickel pocket-novel.