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.