From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The rough wool of my knickers chafes against my knees as I squat on the rug, my fingers tracing the notched grooves of these new cedar Lincoln Logs. Ma is fussing about the world going mad, grumbling that six cents for a single loaf of bread is nothing short of highway robbery while the subway workers threaten to strike. I just crank the Victrola to drown her out, letting the sweeping violin of "Poor Butterfly" fill the parlor. This lousy evening would be better spent at the nickelodeon than stuck here feeling the splinters in these wooden toys.