Financial Slimes….

The suit next to me on the train who is reading the Financial Times and smells suspiciously like alcohol and cigars (which makes me thankful I’m not hungover) keeps having phlemmy coughing fits into his fist.

He’s proper loud. I’m starting to get ‘oh dude, I’m glad I’m not you, we all feel your pain’ looks from the other passengers!

Hello Tuesday; you’re going to be a bit of a bastard today aren’t you?

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