From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The rough texture of my distressed denim jeans rubs against my shins as I slide into the sticky plastic theater seat, my palms sweaty from gripping a cold, condensation-slicked soda. My older brother's acting like a total newbie trying to text on his Razr in the dark while we wait for *Ice Age: The Meltdown* to start, the screen's glow washing over our oversized hoodies. I can't stop fidgeting with the frayed hem of my cotton shirt, wishing I was home playing my DS instead of hearing the news on the radio about some bombing in Iraq. The theater air smells like burnt popcorn and cheap artificial butter, a weirdly comfortable haze that drowns out the heavy world outside for a few hours.