From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
I’m hunched over the kitchen table, the rough burlap of my knickers scratching my thighs while I read about that New York doctor poking around with some new medical juice called insulin. It’s all baloney compared to the play I saw about those mechanical "robots" that look like they’re made of tin and clockwork. I’d much rather be at the picture house with a real sheba who smells like lavender water instead of my sister's stuffed Raggedy Andy. If I could just beat Larson’s new polygraph machine, I’d tell Pa I wasn’t the one who swiped his tobacco and maybe he’d let me out tonight.