From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The glare of the streetlights hits the damp cobblestones, casting long, nervous shadows of men in wool overcoats hurrying toward the bars before the world goes dark. I clutched my morning paper, heart racing at the bold type: "'DRYS' COMBINE ON RATIFICATION; All Alternative Measures Opposed as Obstructive at Senate Hearing in Albany. 'WETS' OUT IN FORCE, TOO." If they really shutter the breweries, my real estate holdings will crumble into dust along with the price of a six-cent loaf of bread. Everything feels fragile, like a blurry snapshot taken in a gale; even the whispers of "Pro-German" influence at the hearing make me flinch behind my collar. I can hear someone whistling "Till We Meet Again" from a doorway, but with the news of "Dry" defections and the war tightening its grip, I fear we are saying goodbye to far more than just a glass of ale.