From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The streetlamp glow catches the sharp crease of my fedora as I dodge a newsboy shouting about Balfour and the Turks; that lousy war is all anyone talks about in the papers. I’m just trying to make it to the corner store, my eyes fixed on the neon-bright labels of the new sweets, though I’ve only got a jingle in my pocket. Ma gave me exactly **$0.06** for a loaf of rye, and not a penny more for a soda or a few Lincoln Logs for my kid brother. I wish I could take a mental **snapshot** of the world before the draft catches us all and sends us over there.