From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning sun catches the glint of those bally aeroplanes in the newsprint, but I can’t stop staring at the bakery window. I’m supposed to be feeling fit as a fiddle on a crisp Sunday, yet my hand trembles as I part with $0.05 for a single loaf; the pennies seem to vanish faster than a pilot over the English Channel. Shadows of men in heavy wool overcoats loom against the brick, their silhouettes sharp and nervous beneath the flickering gas lamps. Between the talk of world championships and these new gun silencers, the city feels like it’s holding its breath for a crash.