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Before the markets opened, WW International announced a collaboration with Amazon Pharmacy to sell its weight-loss meds. Let me translate corporate speak: They’re now selling their custom-made GLP-1 drugs through the world’s largest warehouse. It’s like if Weight Watchers opened a pop-up in every Amazon locker-except the product is “slimming” and the delivery is “overnight.”

The market’s exuberance stemmed from whispers of resolution in Congress and the U.S.-China trade tango. Investors, ever the optimists, treated these murmurs as a golden ticket, pouring back into growth stocks with the fervor of a man chasing a mirage in the desert. BlackSky’s leap has swollen its market cap to $948 million-a sum that could buy a small island, if one were so inclined.

Ryan Koontz of Needham, that scribe of Wall Street parables, etched his verdict in ink: $16 per share, a figure plucked from the ether but clung to with the tenacity of a drowning man. His “buy” recommendation, a lifeline thrown to investors, was less a forecast than a prayer. The analyst’s faith, he confessed, was built on presentations from Planet Labs’ investor day-a spectacle where management spoke of satellite contracts and swelling defense budgets, their words polished as a sailor’s brass buttons.

Here’s the kicker: investors are trading not because they trust the future, but because they fear the alternative. U.S. debt ceiling drama? Dampened. Government shutdown threats? Postponed. Trade wars with China? Temporarily tamed. Progress! Or as Vonnegut might say, “So it goes.” The market isn’t celebrating-it’s sighing in relief, like a lover avoiding a breakup.

Investors, those modern-day alchemists of risk and reward, moved as if guided by some unseen hand. The Ethereum token, once shackled by the weight of macroeconomic anxieties, found itself buoyed by the soft, almost imperceptible pull of hope. The Federal Reserve’s promise of another quarter-point cut, etched in the ledgers of expectation, became a talisman for cryptomancers seeking fortune in the blockchain’s ever-shifting tides.

Consider the stock split: a sleight of hand where one share becomes four, eight, or thirty-two, yet the magician’s hat remains neither heavier nor lighter. Imagine an investor clutching 200 shares at $300 each-a modest $60,000 throne. A four-for-one split would crown them with 800 shares, each now worth $75. The crown jewels remain unchanged, yet the crowd gasps at the spectacle.

The company, a colossus straddling the prairies of Illinois with the grace of a sleepless octopus, harvested $59.8 million in revenue during its third quarter-a modest triumph over the $56.4 million of the previous year. Its adjusted net income, that elusive specter haunting ledgers since time immemorial, swelled by six percent to $20.5 million, or $0.65 per share. Analysts, those modern-day augurs reading entrails from Excel spreadsheets, had predicted $0.62-a difference so slight it might have been dismissed as chance, if not for the alchemy of asset quality that followed.