They all woke up.
They all saw it.
Except me.
Morning, on the trading floor in the City of London.
A red vest practically shoved his microphone into his mouth. "The shorts are adding positions! Add positions! Don't hesitate!"
Veins bulged on a red vest's neck. "Sell! Sell it all! Now! Right now!"
Another red vest sprayed spit as he shouted, "Hold the line! Buy! Buy!"
The roar of orders, the shriek of telephones, the clatter of keyboards, and the stomp of leather shoes merged into an urgent drumbeat, following the red and green numbers on the screens as they jumped wildly.
A red vest waved his arm and roared into the microphone, "Sell! Sell it all for me—"
His voice stopped abruptly. The trading slip slipped from his stiff fingers, and his waving arm held a ridiculous pose.
Everyone's movements froze, as if some command had been issued. In perfect unison, they turned their heads, bloodshot eyes looking in one direction.
All the clamor sank into dead silence, leaving only the low hum of the air conditioning...
Evening, Circular Quay, Sydney Harbour.
Under the glow of the setting sun, the Opera House's shell-like roof seemed to burn, stained with a magnificent wash of gold and red.
On the restaurant's open-air terrace, there was the crisp clink of knives and forks against plates, the clear chime of goblets touching, and the deliberately hushed murmur of conversation...
These sounds wove together with the tempting aroma of food and danced with the faintly salty breath of the sea breeze, creating an atmosphere of elegant leisure.
Waiters in crisp white shirts, silver trays in hand, moved silently among round tables covered in snow-white cloths, serving dish after dish and pouring glass after glass of fine wine.
"Sir, this is the wine