From the day
Perspective: The Anxious Local · Sight
The neon glow of the gas station sign flickers, mocking me with $3.27 a gallon while the headlines scream about A.I.G. and the collapse of everything we built. I look at my reflection in the window, my saggy hoodies and skinny jeans feeling suddenly too expensive for a world where even a loaf of bread is climbing toward despair. That Flo Rida song, "Right Round," blares from a passing car, the bass rattling my chest like a panic attack I can't shake. I want to tell the driver, "Imma let you finish," but honestly, I’m just terrified the spinning won’t stop until we’re all completely broke.