This is real

By Gordon Goh

It occurred within the subterranean fight club known as an MRT station (Orchard to be precise), not in that dreadful queue. It was precisely at six o’clock—the designated hour when the working public collectively loses its mind and dignity in a desperate bid to get home. We were both dashing out, or rather, participating in the mandatory, high-stakes scurry known as the evening rush hour. As I cleared the turnstile, he was tailing me closely enough to be considered a shadow, carrying a blue paper bag so distinct it practically announced itself before he did. Peeking out just enough to betray its presence was that unmistakable oblong case. There is an art in this: minimal exposure but maximum disclosure.

I had to ask the guy: Is that in there what I think it is?

“Yah.”

Did you just buy it at the store?

“I got it at the pre-sale.”

There was a sale before Saturday?

“No, that day.”

Oh, you queued overnight?

“Have to, lah. But not so bad.”

Well, you did it.

“It is all sold out now. The price is now S$2,000.”

That’s very high.

“I’m selling at two-six.”

S$2,600?

“How much are you willing to pay?”

It is really too high.

“Okay, I have to go now. I’m going to make the delivery.”

This one?

“Yah.”

This chap wasted absolutely no time. Flippers rarely do; they operate with the swift, unsentimental efficiency of a day trader, conscious that every passing second threatens their margin. He looked like every other chap in the MRT station. I would have never pegged him as a practitioner of the buy right, sell high trade. He possessed the immaculate camouflage of the super casual, the utterly mundane, blending seamlessly into the MRT crowd like a single, indistinguishable drop in a sea of evening transit. As he turned to leave, he left a parting shot: “Just wait. Don’t be stupid.”