From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning sun glints off the high stiff collars of the men on Broadway, but all I can see is that charred skeleton of an automobile smoldering near the curb; if those metal deathtraps can just burst into flames, nothing in this city is safe. I ducked into the bakery to hide my shaking hands, only to find the baker demanding $0.05 for a single loaf, a price that makes my stomach churn with the rising cost of living. It’s a capital mess when a man can’t walk to work without dodging exploding engines or empty pockets. I stared at the bold, black headlines of the morning paper, clutching my threadbare sack and wondering when the world decided to move quite so fast.