From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m hunched over the parlor table, the stiff, linen-finish of these Rook cards scratching against my thumbs as I try to shuffle without my parents noticing my restlessness. Outside, the world is shifting with talk of rebels in Mexico and flying mail machines, but all I care about is the rough wool of my high-collared tunic chafing my neck while I itch to escape this stuffy room. I catch my reflection in the silver tray, wishing I could take a quick snapshot of my new pompadour before the grease fails. I can’t stop whistling the infectious, syncopated rhythm of *Alexander's Ragtime Band*, tap-tapping my leather soles until Mother glares at me to keep still.