From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My fingers ache from rubbing the rough, splintered pine of these new Lincoln Logs, a far cry from the soft wool of my old coat now rubbed thin at the elbows. Everything is becoming dearer; a loaf of bread costs six cents now, and with talk of elections and concessions in the papers, I fear my meager wages won't stretch to winter. The neighbor’s gramophone blares *Over There* for the tenth time today, the brassy notes vibrating through the floorboards while I stare at the draft poster. I can’t help but shudder at the thought that Uncle Sam wants YOU, knowing that behind the patriotic tune lies a world of cold mud and heavy canvas packs.