Pressure.

We are always running; chanting at the boards,they dance and dip to the beats of an unseen drum “Johnson’s up five” and “Bakers down”, to react is to work,breath, live; all day chasing the dream, my fellows doing the same, how can it be a dream if all we do is follow?, “gold is the new thing” we all run for the books “Hilton Co surges nine points: a rush to the other desk to BUY BUY BUY as a man is engulfed by the crowd, another unnoticed fallen while the market still flies; “oil dropping” a fellow shouts as the screens flicker and glow, the mad rush envelops me and rushing for the phones again — it doesn’t matter, you get paid the same either way — my boss shouts “SELL SELL SELL!” as the bulge of his eye pops out, stress building as the misty lens of profit consumes us all —stay calm and don’t forget why your here — the adrenaline rush as the room erupts with “SELL” and the clock chimes, ticks and moves rapidly.

Yet it stands still. The same task endlessly repeated. Freddy turns 5 today go see him.

The board flickers as the stocks drop and rise with the pulse of a living thing, a living thing that has consumed and broken everything, but still we all crave it, and come back to it, only to wash away every other thought so truly live in the moment —why not just go?— with that the time flies by and everything catches up.

I grab my things. The work day finished. Go to my car. As the tears fall. I make it home. The house is empty. Child welfare has called. Freddy turns five today. All I can do. Is keep him well.

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