From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The neon glow of the new theater sign catches the beads on a passing flapper’s dress, but I can only stare at the newsstand—Pulitzer nearly died in the clouds, and bread is up to eleven cents again. My hands are a mess from the factory, so I'm fumbling to apply one of those new-fangled Band-Aids while the neighbor’s loud hair dryer shrieks through the thin walls like a banshee. That fancy woman in the T-strap heels thinks she’s the cat’s pajamas, but even with the KDKA broadcast humming through the airwaves, it feels like the world is spinning out of control. I just want to tuck a Raggedy Andy under my arm and hide from these soaring prices.