From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
My fingers itch as I smooth the rough, matte finish of this new Scotch Tape, trying to ignore the way the flashbulbs at City Hall keep popping like distant gunfire in my head. I’ve retreated to the shop, clutching a soft, velvet-eared Mickey Mouse doll for comfort, but the air feels thin and dangerous as prices for a simple loaf of bread climb toward nine cents. Every time the floorboards creak, I lose my jitterbug rhythm, fearing the violence from the rally—all those nightsticks and heavy crepe coats clashing—is following me home. I try to focus on the future, on those whispered jet engine concepts promised to whisk us away, but for now, I just shiver in my thin satin gown and pray the peace holds.