From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m hunched over the hardwood floor, the rough, cedar scent of my Lincoln Logs prickling my nose as I notch the timber notches together to build a fort against the world. My fingers feel the scratchy wool of my knickers and the stiff starch of my collar, a real drag when all the newsboys are shouting about some murderous scheme across the sea. Pa is fuming because filling the Ford costs a whole **$0.15** a gallon now, a total gyp that's putting everyone in a sour mood. I just want to capture a quick **snapshot** of my tower before it topples, block out the politics, and hum a bit of that "Blowing Bubbles" tune while the spring breeze rattles the windowpane.