From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The sun is blistering, and my oversized cotton sweatshirt is sticking to my back because the water’s out in Jersey City again, leaving me feeling totally grody. I’m sprawled on the porch floorboards, the rough cedar biting into my thighs while I fiddle with the jagged, cold die-cast metal of my new Transformers. The plastic joints click and snap with a satisfying grind as I twist the cab into a robot’s chest, trying to ignore the humid weight of my spandex leggings. Prince is wailing from the boombox inside, the vibrating bass rattling the porch as I dream of an ice-cold Coke and a breeze that doesn't feel like a wet wool blanket.