Hard Hat
Stonks
$HARDHAT on Solana. Local 420's stonk desk.
One guy, one hard hat, one beam, 200 feet up, checking the candle on his lunch break. No suit. No arms crossed. Just a bag and twelve minutes.
$HARDHAT on Solana. Local 420's stonk desk.
One guy, one hard hat, one beam, 200 feet up, checking the candle on his lunch break. No suit. No arms crossed. Just a bag and twelve minutes.
BE8RAAXD7dN5TzGBQZcTFdLoHim3BUBJ4Weqsf7UGQ3U
Every stonk guy this week wears a suit. Ours wears a hard hat.
The union needed somebody to watch the market so the rest of the local could keep working, and he was the only one with a phone that still had battery. So he sits on the beam at lunch, 200 feet up, boots hanging, watching the same candle the suits watch. Better view. Worse odds.
When the foreman asks what he's looking at he says "the market." When the foreman asks which one, he says "the only one." He's been up there since seven. He's still holding.
He reports to the Bagholders Union. Trench Foot holds his lunchbox.