From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The brass bands for Hughes are drowning out the steady, unnerving tick of my new electric clock, a sound that reminds me we’re just waiting for the next price hike on bread. I flip the toggle light switch back and forth in the hall, worrying if this modern glare only makes us easier targets while those terrible submachine guns chatter away across the ocean. Everything feels like a fragile "no man's land" lately, with the boys humming *Poor Butterfly* to hide their jitters about the draft. I can barely hear myself think over the street noise, fearing every headline brings us closer to a world we won't recognize.