From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The slush outside seeped through my thin polyester coat, but the prices in the bakery window chilled me even more; fifty-five cents for a single loaf of bread is just criminal. I clutched my scratchy wool scarf, my fingers tracing the hard, cold plastic of the Nintendo box I’d been eyeing, though the cost of such high-tech circuitry feels like a bad omen for my bank account. The radio behind the counter blared *Like a Virgin* for the fourth time today, the synths buzzing against my ears while I worried if these SUNY school changes would hike up my niece’s tuition again. Everything feels heavy and fragile at once, from the grit of the salt on the sidewalk to the way the world is moving too fast for a dollar to keep up.