Bull Market Last Days

The lightning split the sky above the padel court as Marco's forehand smashed into the glass wall. He didn't flinch.

"You're missing everything," Elena said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Including the funeral."

"I couldn't." Marco leaned against his racket, breathing hard. "Not after what I said."

David's dog had died the same week Marco's bull market portfolio collapsed. That was six months ago—October, when everything fell apart. David had texted: come over, bring whiskey. Marco never showed. Instead, he stared at Bloomberg terminals, convinced he could ride out the crash.

He couldn't. David died in March. The funeral was last Tuesday.

"He never stopped calling you his friend," Elena said, her voice flat. "Even at the end." She hit the ball back, harder this time.

The storm broke. Rain drummed against the court's glass walls as they played in that strange aquarium light, casting underwater shadows across each other's faces. Elena's dog had died years ago; she understood grief's geometry—the way it curved around you, impossible to avoid.

"I was ashamed," Marco said finally. "Lost everything in the crash. Didn't want him to see me like that."

"So you let him die thinking you didn't care."

"I thought I'd make it back. Thought I'd show up with something to show for it."

Another lightning flash illuminated his hollow cheeks.

"Time," Elena said, "is the only bull market that eventually crashes."

She served. The ball arced perfect, unstoppable.

Marco let it pass.

"I'm sorry," he said to the empty court.

Elena collected her gear. "David used to say padel was like life—you can see everything coming, but you still miss half your shots." She paused at the door. "He meant it as encouragement."

Marco stood alone as the lights clicked off, leaving only lightning and the ghost sound of a ball that had already bounced.