From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m itching to ditch this stiff wool collar for my flannel jersey so I can play *Rook* down at the corner. My father’s a total blockhead, grumbling over his bitter cup of George Washington’s coffee while the electric toaster smells like burnt wires and scorched bread. He’s obsessing over that Maxim Silencer news, but I just want to hum "Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet" and feel the smooth cards in my hands. If I had Floretta Whaley’s inheritance, I’d buy a motor-carriage and never look back.