I’m camped out again near Dr. Mudd’s Greenwich Village townhouse. You may recall the snow shovel incident from my last report; I don’t whether to revise that entry or leave it in. Lots of people carry snow shovels in July. I swatted a gnat with a snow shovel a few summers ago. You don’t often see a gnat traveling alone, they usually group up to create a little momentum. Hey, that’s what hedge fund managers do.
I guess I ‘d better report what I see without editing or filtering out the weird stuff. My reports are laden with detail; for instance, the sun glinting on the hood of my Studebaker is creating a mirage, a vivid likeness of my high school gym teacher blowing his whistle. Now that we’re trailing 60-17 he wants me in the game. We lose 60-19. That’s called making a difference.
Dr. Mudd is conferring with a man I call Il Vagabondo. They’re on his stoop gesticulating perhaps in argument. I am rolling down the window in order to gain auditory perception; you probably don’t remember but older cars use hand cranks to raise and lower windows. Add a layer of mud and grime to the glass and you’ve got yourself a workout accompanied by a squealing noise that alerts the men on the stoop to my presence….
Il Vagabondo is striding toward me. He’s brandishing a book QUANTUM ANALYSIS IN RISK MANAGEMENT. I’ll admit I didn’t make him as a quant guy. Time to boogy. Great, there’s a cloud of gnats in the car now. My snow shovel is in the trunk.
It’s a good thing that Danger is my middle name.
Interesting post.
Hey, thanks, Joe.