From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
The store's fluorescent light hums over my shoulder as I grip the slick, foil edges of these Pokémon cards, wondering if three dollars for a pack of cardboard is why I can barely afford the seventy-nine cents for a loaf of bread. I keep my head down, ignoring the grainy newspaper photo of George W. Bush triumphing in that Iowa straw poll, because honestly, talking about any of it feels like the first rule of Fight Club. My palms are damp against the heavy denim of my overalls while "Genie in a Bottle" blares through the mall's tinny speakers. I just need to get home before the dial-up ties up the line again, though the soaring price of gas makes me feel like I’m being robbed every time I turn the key.