From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The flickering gaslight catches the terrifying black ink of the morning broadsheet, detailing how that heavy bridge at the Metropolitan collapsed right onto the poor chorus girls. I can hardly focus on my breakfast with a nickel loaf of bread costing what it does, and now I’m worrying if even the opera house is a death trap. I suppose I should be thankful to feel as fit as a fiddle compared to those mangled singers, but my nerves are frayed thin. I’ll just hide away by the **jukebox** and hope the new **silencers** keep the world’s violence at bay, or perhaps find a dose of **novocain** to numb the dread of this modern age.