This is Number Two.

The first one has settled in nicely, on top of a bagel with cream cheese, which I ate this morning from the coffee guy on the street. The coffee guy on the street charges $1.50 for a bagel with cream cheese, which comes in one of those little Philadelphia tubs with a plastic knife. If you get the bagel with cream cheese at the bodega, it costs $2.00. For fifty cents I can spread my own cream cheese with a plastic knife.

The first thing I do is to call that miscreant floor broker on the P. Coast. I hit the “T22” light on my turret.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, voicemail.

“Yo, I’m not around, leave a message,” he says, in surfer-speak. I hang up. T22, and the rest of the guys out in San Francisco, for that matter, are completely unreliable. Half the time they’re too hung to come in to work and the other half they’re leaving to go surf. T22 has picked a bad day to be hung over, I think.

I turn to Tod, who trades the options on financials. He made it to the Olympic Trials in fencing, not so long ago.

“Any trades yesterday afternoon?”

“Downside June put spread in JDSU, light on the deltas.”

“Did you hedge it?”

“Yeah, I hedged it.”

“Hedging is for gardeners.” I was kidding, but we were getting more trades like that, lately. It was starting to give me the creeps.

“Your wife called.”

“And?”

“And she wants to know what you did with the kid’s birthday presents.”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I knew that call was coming.”

“What did you do with the kid’s presents?”

“They’re in the car. In the parking garage. I was going to return them all to Macy’s or something, get some cash.”

Tod looks at me.

“What?”

“You’re returning your daughter’s birthday presents?”

“She’s two, she’s not going to miss them. I’ll get like a thousand bucks for them.”

“I’m not even going to ask if you’re going to put that in some kind of college fund.”

“Of course not, why would you ask that?”

“Never mind.”

“Whatever. What got into you?” I paused. “Are you hung over?”

“Yeah.”

“You look terrible.”

* * * *

Johan sits down behind me, taking off his watch cap, rumpling his red hair. He trades options on health care stocks.

“Is that a new watch?” I ask.

“What?”

“I said, is that a new watch.”

Johan looks down at his wrist. “You don’t miss a trick. Uh, yeah.”

“When did you get it?”

“Last night. Are you like autistic or something?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Barneys.”

“Figures. How much did you pay for it?”

“Here we go.”

“Seriously, how much?”

Johan smiles at me. “Six grand.”

“Six grand for a wristwatch,” I say, brandishing my own, proudly, holding it out for all to see. “Casio. Fifteen bucks. Five thousand, nine hundred and eighty-five bucks, down the drain.”

“Fuck you. I like the watch.” Johan says, slapping my hand away.