From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The glare of the morning sun catches the stiff high collars and long, dark skirts of the crowd gathering by the newsstand, where the ink is still wet on headlines shouting of Brazil’s looming break. My heart hammers against my ribs as I finger the six cents for a loaf of bread, wondering if the cost will double before the week is out now that the world is tearing itself apart. A gramophone down the street blares "Over There" by George M. Cohan yet again, the brassy tune haunting me even as I try to distract myself with a "movies" poster. I just want to buy a box of Lincoln Logs for the boy and disappear, but the talk of drone torpedoes and war makes everything feel fragile under these flickering city lights.