From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My word, the stiffness of this wool frock coat is as suffocating as the rumors of war, and five cents for a loaf of bread is simply more than a body can bear. I nervously twist the heavy pewter pieces of this Land’s Lord game, but the cold metal offers no comfort while we wait to see if the Tsar truly means to find peace in Stockholm. Down the cobblestone street, a passing motorcar blares an off-key rendition of *In My Merry Oldsmobile*, its brassy horn rattling my teeth. I can only pray the noise drowns out the whispers of further unrest before the week is through.