From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
The streetlamps flicker like low-wattage stars against my bobbed hair as I sneak toward the dance hall, eyeing the headlines about the Opium King being hauled off to the cooler. I’ve got a massive crush on the lead trombonist, and if I can just shimmy past the old folks, I’ll be the cat’s pajamas tonight. Father grumbled about shells for the Ford costing nearly $0.30 a gallon, but I don't care about the price of gas when "The Sheik of Araby" is wailing through the door. I smooth my silk dress, take a deep breath, and dive into the neon haze.