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The digital clock by the big board counter clicks to am -- four minutes until the market opens. Bud takes a deep breath, tosses the newspaper away and struts into the office -- fuck it -- it's a new day.

Steam rises from a grating, shapes merging into the crowd.

The morning rush hour crowds swarm through the dark, narrow streets like mice in a maze, all in pursuit of one thing: MONEY... Blurred faces, bodies, suits, hats, attache cases float into view pressed like sardines against the sides of a door which now open, releasing an outward velocity of anger and greed, one of them BUD FOX. SUBWAY EXIT - MORNING The bubbling mass charges up the stairs.

The room rises to a subtle but new energy level with the clatter of the ticker, speakers, teletype machines, newsprinters' Dow Jones and Reuters, phones ringing off the hook.

we're still long on the treasuries -- $110 million.

I'm tapped out man, American Express got a hit man looking for me.

MARV (reappearing) Buddy, buddy, buddy; little trouble, huh, today. I've got to cover his loss to the tune of about seven grand!

(heated) I didn't tell you to buy it, why would I tell you to sell it?

As he looks up and winks at Lynch, standing over him.

he'll sue me, could be for 5-6 million, and he'll get a million, the house, they'll impound my paychecks...damn, damn, why did I sign that contract? The elevator stops at a floor, discards only one person.

gotta get Lola in the sack man, take her to the Garden for the Terrells, Jimmy give me the tickets for 12 bucks, I pull the midnight shift, I could do 60 bucks... His eyes on the same blonde exec who looks away, self- conscious about her legs.

funny, the most beautiful girls in the world are always on the street or in elevators, never get to talk to them, shy ...