From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
I worry that bread hitting eleven cents is just the start of our ruin, especially as I clutch this scratchy wool coat tight against the biting February wind. Even the nursery isn't safe from the sting, as I find myself mending a torn Raggedy Andy doll with coarse cotton thread rather than buying a new one. I see the news that Hughes is to confer with Harding on diplomatic posts and assistants, but all that talk of the under secretary of state feels like applesauce when my own pockets are empty. While the big cheese discusses Pan-American relations with John Barrett, I’m just left here shivering and wondering how much higher the price of a gallon of gas can climb.