From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sound
The scratchy needles of my phonograph are playing "Till We Meet Again" so loud I can barely hear the newsboys shouting about Wilson and the suffragettes down on the street. I’m itching to go over the top of this boring schoolwork, but Ma’s already grumbling that my six-cent loaf of bread is mostly sawdust these days because of the war rations. She says if I don’t pipe down, I’ll end up in some blighty hospital before I even get the chance to see if the Yanks are really coming to finish the fight. I just turn the music up, drowning out the clatter of horse hooves and the new motorcars, dreaming of a world that sounds a lot less like a funeral.