From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The rough waffle-weave of my thermal knit catches against my thumb as I pull it over my head, and I throw a heavy, unwashed **flannel** on top to hide the world. My fingers trace the cool, jagged plastic of the new SNES controller I’ve been craving, though my palms are mostly busy digging for change in these ripped denim pockets. Shoving seven dimes onto the counter for a loaf of white bread feels like a total buzzkill, especially with Roxette’s voice bleeding through my headphones. The scratchy $0.70 receipt crumples in my fist as I stomp out in my Doc Martens, the stiff leather finally starting to soften against my heels.