From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The stiff starch of my high-collared shirt scratches my neck something fierce, but I’ve finally ditched the stuffy Sunday coat to feel the crisp May breeze. I’m huddled on the porch steps, the rough, linen-finished cardstock of the Rook deck catching against my calloused thumbs while I shuffle the red and yellow suits. Winning this hand would be absolutely capital, especially since my brother thinks he’s so bally clever with that bird card. I can hear the neighbor’s Victrola scratching out a brassy tune through the screen door, but I’m focused on the sharp, waxen snap of the cards against the wood.