From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The crackle of the shortwave radio is driving me mad, spitting out reports of Polish artillery nearing Frankfurt-on-the-Oder while I’m just trying to stomach a six-cent loaf of bread. Between the blinding sparks of arc welding down at the shipyard and the rhythmic humming of "I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles" from the neighbors, the city feels like a powder keg ready to blow. I stared at the new pop-up toaster in the window today, but who can think of luxuries when demobilized men are being rearmed just down the block? Berlin is becoming a "no man's land" of nerves, and every backfire from a passing motorcar sounds like the start of a tearing raid.