From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The July sun glares off the chrome of a passing Stutz, but I’m ducking into the dark jazz joint to catch the latest Paul Whiteman arrangement. My beaded silk chemise catches the electric glow, shimmering like a dream as I hum "Whispering" by John Schonberger, trying to shake the tune from my head before it drives me batty. Mother would flip her cloche if she saw me without my stockings, but this heat is simply not hotsy-totsy. I have the most desperate crush on the fella playing the sax, even if the headlines on the corner about those Dublin barricades look like nothing but trouble.