From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
I gripped the rough-hewn pine of the Lincoln Logs at the shop, but my hands shook at the thought of six cents for a single loaf of bread. Between the headlines of German bombs found in Norway and the draft, it feels like the very wool of my coat is tightening around my throat. I can't even escape to the movies without hearing that infernal "Over There" blaring from every brass horn, a constant reminder of the boys we’re losing. Every time I touch the cold metal of a modern zipper, I wonder if it’s just more steel destined for the front lines.