I bought the headline. I am the headline.
The insider is outside, and he has crumbs on him.
At precisely the hour when the city begins pretending to understand the market, I arrived on the curb and took possession of the news. There was no bell, no boardroom, and no permission slip. There was only a warm patch of pavement and a sandwich with a future.
Analysts call it irrational. I call it breakfast. The flock has watched the numbers move, the suits hurry, and the fries disappear. We know what matters. We know where the good crumbs land.
Today, that knowledge has a ticker. $PIGEON is the morning paper folded into a bird with excellent timing. Read the room. Then peck the room.