From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves on the frozen cobblestones is drowned out by the shrill whistles of the newsboys, shouting about Roosevelt buying up hundreds of rockets and tinned beans for some violent safari. Blimey, between the talk of gun silencers and the skyrocketing five-cent price for a meager loaf of bread, a man can hardly afford to keep his nerves steady or his belly full. I can hear the neighbors through the thin walls hooting over a game of Rook, their boisterous bidding a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of that new electric toaster I’m terrified will burn the block down. All this talk of foreign expeditions and expensive gadgets makes a simple Sunday feel like the edge of a cliff.