From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Sight
I’m squinting against the neon glare of the arcade, my eyes stinging from a day of watching the Space Shuttle news on the fuzzy shop-window TVs. My older brother is acting like a total poser, talking about some "power lunch" he had while staring at the sleek, beige casing of the new IBM PC and its cryptic MS-DOS prompts like they’re the keys to the kingdom. I just want to slip into the dark theater to see Indy outrun that boulder again, my collar popped and my hair stiff with spray. Everything feels electric and loud, like the heavy bass of that new Diana Ross tape thumping from a passing Trans Am.