From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The glare of the midday sun reflects off the polished brass of those new electric starters, yet all I see are the grim headlines screaming about three hundred indictments down in West Virginia. My hand shakes as I count my coins at the pump, bitter that they’re asking **$0.15** for a single gallon of gas while the law snaps at the heels of every card game and bottle in town. I pull my collar tight against the dust, ignoring the catchy ragtime tune drifting from the parlor, and wonder if we’ll all end up as ghosts in the "movies" soon enough. If they’re locking up the gamblers today, a nervous man like me doesn’t stand a chance.