From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The stiff, wool fibers of my coat scratch at my neck as I wait, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the waxy, smooth finish of the Rook cards in my pocket. Everything feels unstable; even a Baron is digging in the dirt for work now, and I can't help but worry what that means for the rest of us. I clutched my coin tight, still reeling that a simple loaf costs a full $0.05 when the pennies used to stretch so much further. It’s a bully day for the bakers, I suppose, but a grim one for a man just trying to keep his stomach quiet.