From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My hands won’t stop shaking as I knot this stiff wool scarf, wondering how J.P. Morgan and his bankers can sleep while our savings vanish into those Mexican mines. I stared at the pump today until my eyes ached, watching that dial creep up to $0.15 for a single gallon of gas; it’s enough to make a man go over the top with worry. I try to find peace by sanding the rough notches of my son’s Lincoln Logs, but the splintery pine feels like the crumbling railroads we’re supposed to trust. Every penny feels heavier than the last, and I fear these "rehabilitated finances" are nothing but bubbles waiting to burst.