The air in the car is stuffy and sour, and the afternoon sun slants through the windshield, glaring on the dashboard, making the needles shine painfully. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, palms already sweating, slick as if filled with saltwater. The warehouses and billboards by the roadside flash and retreat, the roar of the diesel engine shakes my chest, and my eardrums are filled with a low hum. My feet are pressed between the accelerator and the brake, the heavy work boots steaming with heat, as if someone has lit a fire under my instep; the hard sensation of the sole rubbing against the pedal travels up to my calves, making them ache and numb. My nostrils are filled with the mixed smells of gasoline, the musty odor of old leather, and the dryness of afternoon dust, with a bitter taste at the root of my tongue. A thought flashes through my mind about the stock that just got trapped—the intraday chart of CRVW is pressed against my heart like rusted iron, glaring red, and...