From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sound
The rhythmic pulse of John Schonberger’s "Whispering" drifts from the neighbor’s new wireless, but the melody can’t drown out the frantic rattle of seven stolen trucks speeding over the cobblestones. My heart hammers against my silk chemise as I check the latch; they say a hundred shots were fired at the rail yards today, and sixty-five thousand dollars of spirits is enough to make any man a killer. Bread is up to eleven cents a loaf, yet people still risk their necks for a taste of illegal giggle water. The air smells of damp wool and exhaust, a sharp contrast to the soft humming of that number-one tune that seems to mock the growing chaos in the streets.