From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Tactile
I gripped my scratchy denim jacket tight, checking the price of bread again—it’s up to a buck-twelve and gas is bleeding me dry at the pump. The news on the radio about those interrogation methods sounds real sketchy, and it makes my skin crawl while I wait in this endless checkout line. My palms are sweating against the cold, sleek glass of that new iPhone everyone is obsessing over. It feels strangely heavy and expensive compared to my plastic flip phone, a luxury I can’t afford while I'm worrying about the world falling apart.