From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The distant clatter of the new submachine guns being tested over at the armory is making my head throb, even over the gramophone's mournful crackle of "Poor Butterfly." It’s a lousy time to be alive when you can’t even find a quiet corner without hearing talks of the Great War or clinking coins. Everything is creeping up; I handed the baker **$0.06** for a single loaf today and nearly choked on the cost. Between those high-priced opera tickets at the stadium and the noise of this modern world, I can’t help but fear my pockets will be empty before the first frost.