From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The jagged headlines in the German-language papers feel like a physical blow, their ink bleeding accusations of disloyalty against the President’s latest speech. I passed a shop window where a velvet-skirted Raggedy Ann doll caught the light, but six cents for a loaf of bread feels like a ransom when the world is tilting toward madness. That damn tune *I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier* is screeching from every gramophone on the street, a hollow lullaby for the boys we might lose. It’s just a grim snapshot of a winter where even the neon theater signs look like blood against the gray Philadelphia slush.