From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
I gripped the coarse wool of my coat as I passed the pharmacy, fretting over the eleven cents I’d just spent on a meager loaf of bread. The news fluttering in the window mentioned a strange medicine called insulin and a device that catches lies, but I fear these new-fangled robots will soon take our very livelihoods away. It’s all applesauce to the fat cats, but I just clutched that limp Raggedy Andy doll in the shop window, wishing I could afford its soft cotton for my boy. With gas hitting thirty cents, every stitch of denim feels like a luxury I can no longer grasp.