The Last Bull Run

Thomas had thirty seconds to decide whether to liquidate his position before the Asian markets opened. His iphone buzzed on the mahogany desk—Sarah again. He'd been ghosting her for three weeks since she'd said "I love you" first, a rookie move in the relationship market. Outside, lightning fissured the Manhattan skyline, illuminating the tears on his cheeks. He hadn't realized he was crying.

The screen showed her text: "I met someone else. It's been nice knowing you, Tom."

He laughed—a hollow, ugly sound. The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd spent fifteen years playing the market, riding bull runs and navigating bear markets, always knowing when to hold and when to fold. But with Sarah, he'd paralyzed himself with analysis, convinced that vulnerability was a position he couldn't afford to take. Now she'd cashed out entirely.

His building's dog-walking service knocked on the door. It was the golden retriever from 14B—Buster. The regular walker was sick. "Emergency walk, Tom? You're good with him."

He took the leash. Anything to escape his apartment, his phone, the persistent buzz of notifications that now meant nothing.

They walked in the rain. Buster didn't care about market caps or ROI or the fact that Thomas was thirty-eight and alone in a city that rewarded you for winning but offered no consolation for simply playing. The dog just existed, tail wagging, finding joy in a discarded pretzel.

"You're living the dream, Buster," Thomas said aloud. "No bull, no bear. Just dog."

Lightning struck somewhere close. The thunder made his chest hum. He thought about Sarah's laugh—how it sounded like bells, how he'd never hear it again. He thought about the bonuses, the corner office, the hollow victories that now felt like play money in a game he'd forgotten how to enjoy.

His iphone buzzed again. He didn't look.

Buster sat and looked up at him, soulful and patient, and Thomas realized something profound: the dog had more wealth in his heart than Thomas had accumulated in all his years of accumulation.

"Alright, buddy," Thomas said, and they turned back toward the building, toward whatever came next. "Let's go home."