From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The rough wool of my jacket feels stifling in this August heat, but I can’t stop shivering at the headlines; if Romania stays neutral, these Hindenburg developments will surely drag us all into the mud. I fumble at the wall, clicking the toggle light switch with a sharp *snap* that echoes like the discharge of those new submachine guns they’re testing. The electric clock on the mantle hums with an eerie, steady precision that makes six-cent bread feel like a luxury we won't afford for long. I watch the boy stacking his Lincoln Logs on the rug, terrified that some soldier with lice and "cooties" will be the only thing we have left to greet us by autumn.