From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning fog clings to the newsstands, where the black ink of the *Times* screams about those mangled Italian trains; if the government can’t keep the tracks safe over there, I shudder to think what’s coming for us. My last nickel vanished into a loaf of bread that seems smaller every week, yet my neighbor is acting like a total chump, boasting about the brand-new Rook card game he wasted his wages on. Under the dim, flickering street lamps, the men in their heavy wool frock coats hurry past with their heads down, shadows stretching long and jagged against the cobblestones. I can only imagine the bill when the gas collector comes knocking, provided the world doesn't fall apart before then.