I suddenly feel very old.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. CN will take this opportunity to complain about his ex-wife, and the others will listen.

A friend of mine who owns a bar once told me that people will do cocaine in any bathroom in the city. His is a karaoke bar and people still sniff in the bathroom, with people singing outside. A Wall Street hangout like this, lots of blow. But the cracks in the stall door are pretty wide, wide enough to make eye contact with a single eye outside. I’m sitting on the seat, still in my pants. Thinking. Tomorrow is the PALM spinoff. The deal priced tonight. I never put in for an allocation, not with Kensington, who is lead bookrunner. If Boone Dog noticed, he didn’t say anything.

What distinguishes this market from any other is the existence of a sure thing. You get an IPO, you know with certainty it is going to pop. That’s the thing about free money—everyone wants it. But there is no such thing as a sure thing in markets, which is why they are usually hard.

I’m done with it. If it’s sure to be a winner, I don’t want it.

I get up, exit the stall, leave the bathroom, walk back to the table.

I’m going to go the other way.

* * * *

I hear CN’s car pull up. Before the divorce, he’d be playing Pearl Jam. He could get the first three songs of “Ten” in on his drive. Now, Enya.

I look around the office. Shit everywhere. I start putting papers in piles, slapping the bottom of the stacks of papers against the desk, straightening them out, and give up. There can be shit everywhere. I don’t care.

The door to my office is closed. I hear CN plop his bag on the floor, drop into his chair, and log onto his computer. Against my wishes, he leaves it turned on all night. He says it takes five minutes to boot up; this saves him time. Then, the thwap of his fingers against the bottom of a can of chewing tobacco. He dipped in college, gave it up for Katharine. This is new—he started again two weeks ago.

The broker calls start coming in. Since email, and IM, there is less of this than there was five years ago. We trade with about a hundred banks and brokers. We do it so we have access to their research. CN is the gatekeeper for all of it. We’ve worked together long enough that he knows what I find interesting. If it’s really interesting, chances are I’ve already read it.

I feel myself getting sucked back into my work. Not today.

I have to make a phone call.

* * * *

“Hey man.”

“It’s me, Weber.”

“I know, long time.”

“I know it’s early. This is the only time I can talk.”

“I know. I’m sure this is annoying.”

“So, you’re probably wondering why I called you randomly, after not talking to you for ten years.”