From the day
Perspective: The Future Historian · Tactile
I run my thumb over the rough-cut notch of a walnut Lincoln Log, the wood grain a stark contrast to the news of the crumbling Haig line printed on the morning paper. The heavy wool of my trousers itches, smelling of damp April rain and the metallic tang of the city. I press a cold **$0.06** into the baker’s flour-dusted palm for a meager loaf, wondering if the "votes for women" activists marching outside realize how quickly our foundations are shifting. Each notched timber I stack feels like a fragile bulwark against a world being rebuilt by force and fire.