From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The scratch of this starch-stiffened linen collar is driving me mad, and I’d trade my whole deck of Rook cards just to be behind the wheel of that new Ford Model T everyone is whispering about. Gadzooks, imagine the speed of a machine born from a rolling assembly line while I’m stuck here feeling the crinkle of a cellophane candy wrapper in my pocket. I’m supposed to be studying like young Roosevelt at Harvard, but the tactile thrum of the future feels more real than these dusty books. I can almost hear the clicking of a Geiger counter in a lab somewhere, sharp and rhythmic like the pulse of this new century.