From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sound
The roar at the station is deafening, five thousand folks screaming for the Colonel while "Poor Butterfly" blares from a distant phonograph. I’m dodging the "Votes for Women" picketers and shouting over the clamor of these new electric clocks ticking in the shop windows. Ma sent me out for a loaf, but spending $0.06 on bread feels like a lousy gyp when I could be saving for a box of Lincoln Logs. Between the click-clack of the news tickers and the political boomers hollering about Justice Hughes, I can barely hear myself think.