From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
I adjusted my beaded silk dress, catching my reflection in the shop window next to a stack of newsies shouting that MacSwiney is lower and an inquiry is ordered for Cork prisoners. It's a real heavy scene, with the Lord Mayor in great pain and that Hennessy youth near death, while De Valera speaks in Boston to try and stop the coppers before they bump off any more of our boys. My bobbed hair felt swell under my new cloche hat, a sharp contrast to the grim headlines about fifty-two Belfast victims. I drowned out the talk of the Cork High Sheriff by humming "Whispering" and checking my cheaters in the glass, trying to look like a real flapper despite the world going to rot.