From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The morning fog clings to the newsstand where the headlines scream of traitors and grand juries, making me clutch my wool coat tighter against the chill. I watch a local sheba dash past in her beaded silk and a cloche hat, looking far too carefree while the world feels like it’s rotting from the inside. I squint at the baker’s chalkboard and hiss at the sight of $0.11 for a single loaf of bread, wondering how much more they can squeeze from us before the city breaks. Between the talk of shooting Socialists and these soaring prices, I can’t help but fear that the glow of the new electric signs is just a mask for the coming ruin.