From the day
Perspective: The Future Historian · Tactile
The rough wool of my frock coat chafes against my neck as I lean over the mahogany counter, tracing the waxy finish of a fresh deck of Rook cards. Outside, the news of Moran’s nomination drifts through the humid September air, eclipsed only by the tinny, patriotic refrain of *You're a Grand Old Flag* blaring from a neighbor's new Victrola. I tuck a nickel into my pocket, feeling the cold silver bite against my palm, and wonder if the meat-packing horrors of "The Jungle" will finally force a change in the very fabric of our industrial soul. This era of cold steel and stiff linen feels balanced on the edge of a jagged, modern precipice.