From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My word, the nerves in this city are frayed thin as the new cellophane wrap I saw at the market. I wiped the grease from my heavy wool waistcoat and stared at the station sign; seeing **$0.10** for a gallon of gas makes my stomach turn, especially with rumors of Mr. Wright nearly smashing his flying machine into a shed. I fumbled with the stiff, linen-finish cards of my Rook deck, trying to ignore the terrifying speed of forty miles an hour. If men are meant to circle the sky like hawks, I fear our quiet world will soon be nothing but noise and expensive fumes.