From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The sky is a hauntingly clear blue today, but I can’t stop twisting my velour tracksuit zipper while staring at the flickering television screens in the electronics window. That "I'm Real" remix is blaring from a passing silver SUV, Ja Rule’s gravelly voice vibrating against the pavement, but the music feels hollow against the horrifying smoke silhouettes rising over the skyline. Gas is already spiking past a buck-fifty, and my stomach drops every time the news ticker flashes a new update about the chaos downtown. I need to get home to my peeps before the whole world catches fire, so brb—I’m literally running until the neon signs of the bodega blur into a smear of static.