The Email From Tomorrow

At 9:29 the next morning, Ethan sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open, a brokerage account he had not used in eight months, and hands that felt detached from his arms. He had $382 in checking and $214 in the brokerage account. He could not afford to gamble. He also could not afford to remain himself. He did not buy options. That was the first test of whether desperation had fully eaten his brain. He bought two fractional shares of NVIDIA at market open, almost all the money in the brokerage account, then watched the chart like it contained oxygen. For forty minutes, nothing happened. He felt stupid. Not normal stupid. Historic stupid.