From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The neon glow of the diner sign flickers against the damp pavement, catching the sharp beads on a passing flapper’s silk dress as she hurries through the winter chill. I stare at the blackboard outside the station, my stomach churning at the sight of gas hitting **$0.30** a gallon; it feels like the whole world is bleeding dry while the papers scream about starvation across the Atlantic. Everyone’s acting like a **stool pigeon** for the tax man lately, looking for someone to blame for these soaring prices. I pull my collar tight against the wind, watching the silhouette of cloche hats disappear into the fog, wondering if we’re all just dancing toward a collapse.