From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The rough wool of my oversized flannel scratches against my neck, but the thermal knit underneath keeps the chill out while I lounge on the floor in my ripped jeans. My fingers are stained from trying to figure out Photoshop 1.0 on the school Mac, and honestly, if the Hubble Telescope doesn’t send back some killer space photos soon, the whole thing is just a massive waste of time. I’m just trying to zone out to Taylor Dayne on the radio while I wait for my turn to finally touch the heavy, matte plastic of the new SNES controller. Mom keeps complaining about some vanity press scam in the paper, but I’m too busy trying to code a simple page with HTML—it’s exhausting, and if it doesn't work, well, whatever. I just want to forget about school and feel the heavy thud of my Doc Martens as I head out to the movies later.