From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The iron clatter of horseshoes is being drowned out by the infernal sputtering of those new Ford engines, a racket that makes my nerves jangle like loose change. I just handed over **$0.10** for a single gallon of fuel to keep the range going, and frankly, the price is enough to make a man jumpy about the future. Everything is moving too fast; I hear they’ve put new propellers on the *Lusitania* just to shave seconds off the Atlantic crossing. It’s capital for the engineers, I suppose, but beneath the tinny hum of "Shine On, Harvest Moon" drifting from the parlor, I can’t help but fear we’re all rushing toward a collapse.