From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The plastic of this Rubik’s Cube feels greasy against my palms, a grody film of sweat and anxiety as I twist the rows while watching the news of the Iranian crisis. My velour tracksuit is sweltering, but I can’t stop shivering at the thought of gas prices creeping past a dollar-nineteen while the radio blares that thumping bassline of *Another One Bites the Dust*. The air feels thick with the threat of Reagan's Cold War and empty wallets, making every fifty-cent loaf of bread feel like a luxury I shouldn't afford. I wipe my hands on my spandex leggings and wonder if we’re all just waiting for the next cube to click into a place we won't survive.