Hello, colleagues!According to the results of the survey “Choose a book for review” of the submitted 8 books and one manuscript (Original), the book by A.P. Chekhov’s Tales and Stories. Having re-read the book, I am unlikely to add anything new, as many literary critics and admirers of the outstanding writer’s talent have said. A.P. Chekhov and other Russian classics should be read. Chamber No. 6 (I recommend reading the original before reading the text below) is something that will always be relevant. Considering that we have a trading resource, I allowed myself to change and add some words and got a short story about unsuccessful traders: Office No. 6 There is a spacious room in the office center, surrounded by a forest of tables, laptops, TVs, coffee machines. At the entrance, risk manager Nikita, an old merged trader, always sits with a pipe in his mouth. He has a stern, exhausted face, drooping eyebrows, giving the face the expression of a steppe sheep dog, and a red nose; he is short, lean and wiry in appearance, but his posture is impressive and his fists are hefty. He belongs to the number of those simple-hearted, positive, diligent and stupid people who love order more than anything in the world and therefore are convinced that the position of clients must be covered even before the margin call. He hides the indiscriminateness of both physicists and yuriks and is sure that without this there would be no order here and everyone would merge. There are tables in the room, screwed to the floor. Behind them sit people in (blue hospital gowns and old hats) in T-shirts and jeans. These are (crazy) traders and investment bloggers. There are five of them in all. Only one took a prize in the Champions League, the rest are all philistines. The first from the door, a tall, thin trader with a red, shiny mustache and tear-stained eyes, sits with his head propped up and looks at one point. Day and night he is sad, shaking his head, sighing and smiling bitterly; he rarely takes part in conversations and usually does not answer questions. He eats and drinks automatically when given. Judging by the painful, beating cough, thinness and blush on his cheeks, everything is drained from him and he is thinking about the bankruptcy of his physical. face. He is followed by a small, lively, very active old man with a sharp beard and black, curly, like a negro’s hair. During the day, he walks around the office from window to window or sits at his desk, tucking his legs like a Turkish, and restlessly, like a bullfinch, whistles, sings softly and giggles. This is Moiseika, who went mad in 1998, when all his savings in the GKO burned down. Of all the inhabitants of office No. 6, only he alone is allowed to access the Internet and take money from the remote control. He has been enjoying this privilege for a long time, probably as a trading old-timer and as having his own blog on a top resource for investors. Ivan Dmitrich Gromov, a thirty-three-year-old man from the noble, a former manager of a medium-sized hedge fund and having the status of a qualified investor, suffers from persecution mania from bankrupt clients of your fund. He either reclines in an armchair, curled up, or walks from corner to corner, as if for exercise, but he sits very rarely. He is always excited, agitated and tense with some kind of vague, indefinite expectation. The slightest rustle in the corridor or a shout in the yard is enough for him to raise his head and begin to listen: is it not for him that they are following him? Are they looking for him? And his face at the same time expresses extreme anxiety and disgust. When he speaks, you recognize him as crazy and human. It is difficult to convey on paper his insane speech. He talks about the meanness of the market, about market makers, about investors who withdraw funds at the wrong time, about the millions in profits that his fund will earn over time. It turns out a disorderly, incoherent potpourri of old, but still unfinished songs. Ivan Dmitritch’s neighbor on the left side, as I already said, is Moiseyka, while the neighbor on the right is an info-gang youtuber, an almost round man with a dull, completely senseless face. This is a motionless, deceitful and unscrupulous animal, which has long since lost the ability to think and feel. He constantly broadcasts cheap content with beautiful girls, cars, houses and hand-drawn brokerage reports. The fifth and last inhabitant of office No. 6 is a crypto trader who once worked on a crypto exchange, a small, thin blond with a kind, but somewhat sly face. Judging by his intelligent, calm eyes, looking clear and cheerful, he is on his mind and has some very important and pleasant secret. He has something near his laptop or in his pocket that he does not show to anyone, but not out of fear that they might be taken away or stolen, but out of shame. Sometimes he goes to the window and, turning his back to his comrades, puts something on his chest and looks with bowed head; if at this time you approach him, he will be embarrassed and tear something from his chest. But its secret is not difficult to guess. “Congratulate me,” he often says to Ivan Dmitritch, “I was given a hardware cold Ledger crypto wallet of the latest model. “I don’t understand anything about this,” Ivan Dmitritch declares gloomily. Probably, nowhere else is life so monotonous as in this office. In the morning, traders, besides a paraplegic and a fat man, read the news and discuss where: Gazprom, Ruble, Evra, Cue Ball, Sipa, and does it really matter what?! After that, they drink coffee from plastic cups, which Nikita brings from the main building. Each is entitled to one mug. Lunch at noon. In between, they trade, cry out emotionally at moose and profits, look out the windows and walk from corner to corner. However, a rather strange rumor has recently spread through the corps. A rumor was spread that office No. 6 was allegedly visited by an investor. Investor Andrey Efimych Ragin is a wonderful person in his own way. They say that in his early youth he read The Intelligent Investor and prepared himself for a career as a top manager of a large fund. When Andrey Efimych came to the city to invest money, the trading office was in a terrible state. There were errors in investment reports, no audit was conducted for many years, traders violated their own TS, equity curves were often drawn in Photoshop. After examining the office, he came to the conclusion that this institution is immoral and extremely harmful to the capital of investors. In his opinion, the smartest thing that could be done was to disperse traders into agriculture and close the office. But he reasoned that his will alone was not enough for this, and that it would be useless; if physical and moral impurity is banished from one place, then it will move to another; you have to wait until it wears off on its own. At first, Andrey Yefimitch began to advise himself and worked very diligently. He took every day from morning to afternoon, advised which banks to invest in, which stocks have good dividends, which VDOs are worth buying. The ladies said about him that he is attentive and perfectly guesses the market, especially Gazprom and Sberbank. But over time, the business noticeably bored him with its monotony and obvious futility. Today you advise 30 people, and tomorrow, you see, 35 of them, the day after tomorrow 40, and so on day after day, year after year, and the number of bankrupt investors in the city is not decreases, and they do not stop walking. And why stop people from going bankrupt, if this is the normal and legal end of almost everyone in the market? What does it matter if some huckster or official spends an extra five or ten months trading? cabinet at the table and begins to read. He reads a lot and always with great pleasure. Half of his salary is spent on the purchase of near-market and self-development books, and out of the six rooms of his apartment, three are littered with books and old magazines. Most of all, he loves trading stories of success and stories of those who bought a cue ball for $ 1; according to serious analytics, he writes out only “…”, which he always begins to read from the end. In the evening, a short player usually comes, Mikhail Averyanych, the only person in the whole city whose company is not painful for Andrey Yefimych. Mikhail Averyanych was once a very rich shorts player and shorted GameStop Corp for the whole cutlet, they made him a corner and he went bankrupt and, out of need, entered the brokerage department in his old age.— Eh! Mikhail Averyanych sighs. – Wanted from the current mind! And he tells how it used to be profitable, fun and interesting, what kind of traders were in Russia and how the RTS exchange highly valued the concept of accurate execution. Brokers loaned money without collateral, and it was considered a shame not to lend a helping hand to a merged trader. About two years ago, the head office became generous and Evgeny Fedorych Khobotov was invited by the city to help Andrei Efimych. This is still a very young man – he is not even thirty – a tall brunette with wide cheekbones and small eyes; probably his ancestors were foreigners. He arrived in the city penniless, with a small laptop and a young, ugly woman whom he calls his cook. He considers his colleague Andrey Efimych an old rogue, he suspects he has big investments. funds and secretly jealous of him. He would gladly take his place. On one of the spring evenings, at the end of March, when there was no snow on the ground anymore and starlings were singing outside the office windows, investor A.E. came out to see his friend shortist to the gate. Just at this time, Moiseyka, returning from prey, entered the Internet. – Give it to DU! he asked the investor in the cart via video link. Andrey Yefimitch, who never knew how to refuse, translated a trifle for him. “How bad it is,” he thought, looking at the monitor and seeing his bare feet with red skinny ankles. And, prompted by a feeling similar to both pity and disgust, he went to office No. 6. At the entrance of the investor, Nikita jumped up from the corner and stretched out. “Hello, Nikita,” Andrey Yefimitch said softly. – How would this trader increase the margin, or something, otherwise it will merge. “Yes, your honor.” The door to the office was open. Ivan Dmitritch, raising himself on his elbow, listened anxiously to the voice of another, and suddenly recognized the investor. He shook all over with anger, jumped up and with a red, angry face, with bulging eyes, ran out into the middle of the ward. The investor has arrived! he shouted and laughed. – Finally! Gentlemen, congratulations, the investor honors us with his visit! Damned bastard! he squealed, and in a frenzy such as had never before been seen in the ward, he stamped his foot. “Kill that bastard!” No, not enough to kill! Drown in a latrine! Andrey Yefimitch, who heard this, looked out of the entrance to the office and asked softly: “For what?” – For what? shouted Ivan Dmitritch, going up to him with a menacing air and convulsively wrapping himself in his dressing-gown. – For what? He didn’t give us money for management, he wanted to disperse the office, he leaked the negative to other investors! ======Colleagues, we managed to interpret the first half of the story of this wonderful work. If you liked it and do not cause rejection, put likes, they will be an incentive to continue… Cart: https://t.me/Tactica_Adversa

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