From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
I'm clutching my quilted handbag so tight it’s digging into my palms, staring at that gas station sign where the digits just flipped to **$1.19**, and it's totally making my stomach churn with the news of those bombings. My polyester blouse is sticking to my back in this July heat as I shoulder through the department store, desperate to find a Cabbage Patch Kid for my niece before the shelves are bare. The vinyl skin of the few dolls left feels unnervingly cool and clammy, a sharp contrast to the grit of the city and the heavy static of "Every Breath You Take" echoing off the linoleum.