From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The flash of the newsie’s brass buttons caught the afternoon sun as he shouted about Admiral Rojestvensky’s looming trial, but I was more distracted by the sharp silhouette of a girl in a starched linen shirtwaist. My nerves were absolutely capital as I walked past the music shop, where the tinny blast of a Victrola flooded the sidewalk with "You're a Grand Old Flag." I hummed along to George M. Cohan’s melody, trying to look bored while secretly checking my reflection in the storefront’s polished glass. If I can scrounge up a nickel for some bread, I might just convince the chaps to spend the evening huddled over a game of Rook.