From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning fog clings to the tall, stiff collars of businessmen rushing past newsboys shouting about Colonel Payne’s millions, a sum so dizzying it feels utterly over the top while I’m just trying to keep my horse’s belly full. I squint through the flickering gaslight at the station board, my stomach twisting to see fuel has climbed to a staggering $0.15 a gallon, enough to make a man trade his buggy for a bicycle. Every headline promises a medical miracle for Cornell, but all I see are the darkening silhouettes of the city as the seasons shift. I pull my heavy wool coat tight, ignore the shop windows filled with those new metal Erector Sets I can’t afford, and pray the price of bread doesn't follow the pumps upward.