From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The streetlamps catch the sharp crease of my new bell-bottoms as I dodge a puddle, humming "The Sheik of Araby" while the smell of hot bread wafts from a bakery door. I glance at a discarded paper shouting about how League Commissioners Confer On Disarmament Question, but honestly, all that political applesauce bores me stiff. I’m more interested in the electric flash of the jazz club signs and the way the girls’ bobbed hair gleams under the marquee lights. Forget the war talk; I just want to find some giggle water and lose myself in the rhythm of the city.