From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The rough wool of my overcoat chafes my neck as I push through the slushy New Year’s Eve crowd, clutching a single nickel. It’s a bully thing to see the city lights, but my heart sinks seeing the baker flip his sign; a mere $0.05 for a loaf of bread feels like highway robbery when the papers are full of Addicks's political schemes and looming fights. I find a small comfort in the stiff, cardboard box of a *Land’s Lord* set tucked under my arm, its paper surface smooth compared to the grit of the coal dust in the air. I pray the new year brings some peace, though the cold wind biting through my cotton undershirt suggests a long, hard winter ahead for us all.