a famously priapic street sign.

The following is from a comment I left over at Dope City Free Press:

I heard the last part of a very interesting interview on the BBC World Service with a market speculator from New York worth $9.3 billion. His personal fortune, I gather. This guy was very candid and had a more pronounced New York accent than Joey Ramone. Or Arthur Kane.

He sounded like a stone cold killer. And no doubt that is a valid characterization.

He defined short selling something like this: \”It\’s a lot like walking through a burning warehouse. You think of 1,000 ways to kill a business – 2,000 ways – and you do the math. You get bloodied. Catching falling knives.

You buy up oil when everybody tells you it will never go beyond $40 a barrel. When it gets to $180 per barrel you grit your teeth. When it\’s $230 per barrel, you sell. Sell it all.

You go to bed at night with headphones on. Listening to market analyses. You sit down and read an annual report instead of a novel. It\’s all about calculating how many ways there are to kill a business.\”

I was half asleep as I listened to him lay it out. He had balls, all right. A Wall Street assassin. I doubt that f@cker ever sleeps.

And if he does, you can safely wager it\’s with one eye open.

Like a crocodile.

That statue on Wall Street is so much bullshit. It\’s always the matador who steps out the ring; smiling. All the rest is just dead meat.


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Hello. I am still breathing, if you wondered at this latest absence. I needed to step back from the drop awhile, the empty space between the rails, to let the game play out. It has not been pretty for