From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
I squint through my cheaters at the blurry rag ink, stomach churning over that Syracuse teacher who let lead fly at the college dean. My old man is acting like the big cheese, barking about "moral decay" while I’m just trying to scrounge up $0.11 for a loaf of bread before the shops close. The spring sun hits the street, catching the sharp creases of my trousers and the ridiculous red yarn hair of my sister's Raggedy Andy doll tossed on the porch. I drown out the grim headlines by whistling "The Sheik of Araby," watching the neon-bright colors of the world go by.