Bastion of ink-stained thumbs and cynicism.
Once inhabited by people with visors, snappy outfits, and plenty of bad habits and attitudes. (See fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys.)
Nobody plays poker where I work, and thanks to the smoking Nazis (people like me), we don't pitch stories through clouds of cigar smoke either. Nor do we dress in tailored suits. Plenty of running boob jokes, however, and urgency.

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