From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The humidity makes my stiff linen collar itch like a bally rash, and five cents for a single loaf of bread is enough to make a man’s pulse race with dread. I try to steady my nerves by shuffling these Rook cards, but the slick, printed cardstock feels flimsy against my calloused thumbs, nothing like the heavy, honest paper of the old days. Despite the news of Judge Haskell’s marriage crumbling like dry dirt after half a century of waiting, I must keep myself looking fit as a fiddle for the Sunday promenade. My wool waistcoat is heavy with the heat, yet I can’t help but worry if the cost of living will soon outpace the very strength in my hands.