From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
I’m hunkered down in my wool mackinaw, watching the sunset bleed crimson over the jagged skyline while the headlines scream about Bolsheviks and new laws. Pop just handed me a nickel and a dime to fill the Ford, and I’m fuming that gas has hiked up to **$0.15** a gallon when I’d rather spend that silver on a tin of tobacco or a new set of Lincoln Logs for my brother. The wind bites through my newsboy cap, but I tune it out by whistling "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles," watching the girls pass by with those defiant "votes for women" pins glinting on their lapels. It’s a lousy, frozen Sunday, but the world is tilting on its axis, and I can see the change coming in every sharp, modern silhouette shifting through the winter gloom.