From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The grit of the newsprint rubs off on my fingers as I toss the paper aside, sick of reading that the French Premier prepares to cut San Remo parley while the British demand clearer statements; honestly, all that talk of treaties and grave views is just a bunch of baloney. I’d much rather be fiddling with the knobs of the new radio set, feeling the cold metal and the smooth, lacquered wood of the cabinet while I hunt for a jazz signal. My new rayon dress feels slick and cool against my skin, though the drop-waist silhouette makes it hard to sit still when "Whispering" starts playing in my head. I snag my Raggedy Andy by his floppy cotton arm and head for the door, adjusting my cloche hat until the stiff felt sits just right over my bob.