Sundance, the broker, woke up at half past six. Another day was awaiting for him. It was Friday, the third Friday in June. A glorious day…the sun was up in the sky, the birds up in the trees, his suit and tie up in the wardrobe. The 21st of June…no, it was not the birthday of any relative or friend … this date…hem! He got out on the balcony.

'Good morning, Mr. Nightingale', he greeted the weird little man with a cap and a huge telescope pointed to the sky who was standing in the balcony next to his. 'Good…morning, Mr. Sundance', he mumbled. Then, staring at him with his small black eyes in which a strange light was twinkling, he added: 'I'm going to tell you something very, very important, but a bit later, later…'

His words faded away in the morning mist. 'Really weird', Sundance said to himself. He had known that little man for three years since he moved house but they hadn't changed more than two or three words. All the neighbours found him crazy and Sundance shared their views.

Sundance started to get dressed. He was thinking about that important day - the 21st of June, the third month in June, and the triple witching hour - the last closing hour for the stock exchange transactions. He had to decide between two stocks: from Day & Light, a cosmetics company, and those of Attraction of the Night, a perfume launched by an obscure company (so unknown that the brokers were using the name of its product to refer to it) but surprisingly well quoted. His orders were very clear: he was only to buy Attraction of the Night if their prices were really good. Sundance was sure of his success on that particular day. He felt an unusual energy flowing through his body and shivers down his spine. He glanced out of the window and saw the sunrise - the sun seemed to be smiling at him.

He descended and went to buy the morning newspaper from round the corner, as usual. He knew the news agent, a nice old man. He bought The Guardian but was astonished seeing a pile of Sunday Times, the last week's issue. He couldn't understand how was that, but then he saw the yellow taxi, the American model - 'Where have our black cabs gone?', he wondered.

He arrived at the Stock Exchange and started another working day: toing and froing, phone calls, eyes glued to the displays, clenched fists, a frugal lunch brought by a colleague, - some chicken and chips, unusually golden, and very tasty, actually.

The end of the day was drawing near, the triple witching hour: the two stocks were doing similarly well. Which should he choose? A ring.

'Mr. Sundance, there's a phone call for you, says it's extremely important'. He dashed to the receiver. He heard a weak voice…it was a very bad connection:

'Mr. Sundance the day, the day…longer than the night, the longest actually, the day, the day…'. He didn't understand at first. Then he knew: he had to buy Day & Light. He ran and shouted 'Buy, buy Day & Light…Day & Light…Day & Light'

Suddenly he felt a fresh, sweet scent. His colleague who had brought him the lunch was just passing by. 'What perfume is this?', he stammered.

'Attraction of the Night. They hit the jack-pot. Day & Light is totally sunken', and she went on.

Sundance received the blow. He woke as from heavy sleep and saw the figures on the screen: yellow and bright. Day & Light and he had lost that day, the Sun's day. He sat down at the table and, smiling bitterly, he began to write his resignation: 'Dear Mr. Nightingale…'

copyright © the author, 2000