From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
Gadzooks, the sunlight hitting my high-collared shirt is blinding, but it's nothing compared to the flash of those crimson Rook cards we're hiding under the porch. I swiped a nickel from Father’s vest—it’s a bally gyp that a single loaf of bread costs $0.05 now—but the coins are better spent on a few sweets while we whistle "You're a Grand Old Flag" to annoy the neighbors. Through the window, the Victrola is scratching out a tune, thin and tinny against the headlines about those stuffy insurance lobbyists. I’m just trying to stay out of sight until the gas lamps flicker on; if I’m caught playing instead of studying, I’m truly cooked.