From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I prick my thumbs on the stiff, waxy edges of the new Rook deck, shuffling the cards while humming the syncopated beat of that new Berlin rag. My stiff high-collar shirt is suffocating, made of that scratchy, heavy cotton that chafes my neck every time I lean over to gossip about the local girls shouting "votes for women" down on the square. Ma sent me out with a nickel and a penny, but I nearly spent that **$0.06** on a nickelodeon show instead of her precious loaf of bread. I’d much rather be watching a hydroplane race or feeling the greasy vibration of a motor-car's electric starter than running errands in this blistering July heat.