From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The nickel I spent for this small loaf of bread feels like highway robbery, and I can hardly stomach the morning headlines about that poor explorer vanished in the Chinese wilderness. The gas lamps flicker dim against the silhouettes of men in stiff collars, their faces grim as they whisper about the bally uncertainty of the world. At the parlor table, the neighbors are obsessing over that new Rook card game, but I can’t find the spirit to play while the Victrola blares its brassy tunes. Everything feels fragile today, as if the very air is waiting for more bad news to drift in from the telegraph.