Outlook Ring, ring. That's trader Steve on the line, and talking of stress, the boy is in a pickle.
"I've had it up to here son. I'm getting killed. Kicked to pieces. I can't see the screens, just can't see 'em. Every call I make is wrong. The boss is going mad. The whole office is on tablets. I'm chucking it in son, I'm off for a matinee. Talk to you later."
A matinee. That's an afternoon visit to a strip club, a weapon that is employed only at times of the most extreme pressure. It's rough out there.
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