From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My word, the price of a loaf has climbed to a full nickel, and I can hardly keep my hands warm through these thin wool mittens as I walk. I clutched the stiff, hand-painted board of Land’s Lord under my arm, its sharp cardboard corners digging into my ribs, wondering if such a plaything is a folly with smugglers hiding gems in freezers and the world so uncertain. The rough hemp twine binding my parcels chafes my chapped palms, a stinging reminder of every cent leaking from my purse. I feel the heavy dampness of the slush soaking into my leather soles, trembling at the thought of what tomorrow’s headlines might demand of us.