From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The streetlights flicker over the newsies screaming about the *Antilles* going down, their silhouettes sharp against the brick as they flash headlines of those seventy poor souls lost to the U-boats. I kick at a stray crate, my stiff wool collar scratching my neck while I hum that "Over There" tune, watching my kid brother on the rug obsessively stacking his **Lincoln Logs** into a tiny, wooden fortress. He’s too young to see the posters plastered on every corner, but I can’t stop staring at that pointed finger telling me Uncle Sam wants YOU. The world feels like it’s shrinking into one big no man’s land, and these city shadows suddenly feel way too quiet.