From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
I’m squinting through the hazy shop windows at the dandy new Victrolas, watching the afternoon sun gleam off their polished wooden horns and the sharp silhouettes of bowlers and stiff collars passing by. Blimey, if I have to hear that ticker-tape news about German ships and Moroccan squabbles one more time, I’ll lose my mind; the adults look so grim under the gaslights, clutching their nickel loaves like the world's ending. Instead, I’m humming the chorus of "You're a Grand Old Flag," letting the brassy rhythm drown out the boring chatter of some chump talking about the Kaiser. My hands are shoved deep into my wool coat pockets, fumbling with a fresh deck of Rook cards I swiped from the parlor.