From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My fingers ache from the rough cedar notchings of these Lincoln Logs I’m packing away, a far cry from the soft, velvet-trimmed coats the ladies wear when marching for votes for women. Shadows feel longer today with the news of the Garden riots, and my pulse quickens every time I pass the filling station where they want a staggering $0.15 for a single gallon of gas. I pull my heavy wool shawl tighter against the winter chill, wishing the world felt as simple as a John Kellette melody. Between the hateful shouts at Hearst and the rising cost of bread, the very fabric of the city feels like it’s fraying under my touch.