When I drew the curtains this morning I beheld an agent sticking to the facade like a spider and flourishing a self-made cardboard sign to warn me of an impending stock market crash.

Right away, I scribbled some lines on a piece of cardboard, too, and held it to the window pane thus informing the gentleman that he very probably was mistaking me for the fabricant from the third floor who was known to hold a large number of stocks.

The agent read my note with the aid of his pince-nez, apologised by humbly lifting his hat (and thereby nearly losing his grip and falling), and then climbed swiftly towards the third floor.

I, for my part, poured my cold coffee into the sink.