Forget what you know about money and status. You’re anxious. You’re right to be.
It began with a comment. "Great stuff Hugh…Central Andes here, watching the world tilt. Hoping you’ll shed some light."
But I don't shed light. I give signal. Noisy, erratic signal mostly. But i’m attentive. I wonder if the system’s alive at all or just twitching in the daily financial sheets. But these words stuck. Most don’t, these did. Don’t know why. Something lit a fuse deep inside me. A flicker. A glint. A reason to go back. The Andes. That did it. And suddenly I was gone, hijacked by cinema, airlifted by memory. Not the trip I planned for today. I’m due in Osaka, Friday. But that doesn’t matter.
I was supposed to be writing about silver. Instead I’m sitting in Bvlgari, staring out over Tokyo’s endless sprawl. A vast metropolis devouring my thoughts. Glass, steel, silence. The obedient hum of a luxury cage. My mind fracturing in jet lag. Everything’s quiet. Too quiet. Even the silence feels fucking obedient.
Then she appears: Rosanna Arquette. Young, reckless, bat-shit crazy perfect.
