From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sound
The phonograph won’t quit scratching out "Poor Butterfly," and that weeping Victor record is driving me nutty while the Old Man growls about the Brotherhood’s secret strike orders over his morning oats. I’m itching to slip out to the movies, but the street is a deafening riot of horseless carriages and the clatter of the new electric clocks ticking toward a walkout that’ll paralyze the whole line. If those rail workers actually drop their shovels on the fourth, these city blocks are going to feel like a frozen "no man's land" without a single train whistle. I just need to sneak past the parlor noise and find some real excitement before the world stops turning.