"Damn it, oil prices have gone up again. They've risen three times this month already. If this keeps up, my factory will be shutting its doors sooner or later! I should've bought oil company shares back when I had the chance. With oil prices surging this fiercely lately, their stock prices must be skyrocketing!" complained a burly, bearded middle-aged man.
"Mr. Lier, I've heard you complain about this three times today already. Can't you change the subject?" said the person sharing his table helplessly.
"Fine, Vic, let's change the subject. How about we talk about London's weather?" Lier said after giving it some thought.
"That truly is a sad subject. London's weather is an everlasting pain in our hearts!" Vic said, putting on a look of utter heartbreak.
"Enough, Vic! Wipe that bitter gourd face off your head. I'm upset enough already. I invited you for coffee, not so you could needle me!" Lier said with a frown.
"Fine, Lier! I've realized you don't have a shred of humor. With London's weather like this, aren't you the least bit upset?" Vic asked doubtfully.
"I'd like to be upset, but I simply can't work myself up to it. You know my factory is one of the pollution sources the media keeps attacking. I'm practically the poster child for unscrupulous profiteers! If they want to deal with London's smog, I'll have to shut down my factory. That part is a minor issue—my little factory doesn't make much money anyway, so shutting it down is no great loss. But what about those several hundred workers? Tell me, have those media people lost their minds? They say shutting down factories will cure the smog? God, don't they know that if the factories close, at least a quarter of London will lose their jobs? Without