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The day was a hot mess.

Angelo had squandered his fortune on high risk dividends and wild stock options and all because of the advice from some pigmy.

Sitting in the sun under a hot northern California beach the pigmy slunk by dragging his right leg.

You must hear my tale.

Angelo mistook him for a child and asked if he was lost. The pigmy stared Angelo dead in the face and spoke of gain, and profit. Margins exploding by months — not years — and a stock market filled with bounce like a pogo stick.

It might have the been the dolphins, it might have been the seal sighting, it might have been the very cold northern California air, but he took a chance and gave the pigmy his number.

Well the pigmy took it and ran. Eight months later Angelo is washed up, sodden down, suddenly bankrupt, and effectively destroyed.

On the same beach under that hot northern Californian sun, Angelo slunk by dragging his right leg, and the pigmy: that short, staunch, ever knowing pigmy, with his ever-knowing wisdom of god, nature, and the language of feeling — sat in a lotus like pose and pondered the existence of the universe, and what he was going to do with my money.

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