Of course, the council claimed that those construction plans had been there for years before Rune and Ove moved into their houses,
but one did not get far with Rune and Ove using that sort of argumentation.
“It’s war, you bastards!” Rune had roared at them down the telephone line.
And it truly was: endless appeals and writs and petitions and letters to newspapers.
A year and a half later the council gave up and started building somewhere else instead.
That evening Rune and Ove had drunk a glass of whiskey each on Rune’s patio.
They didn’t seem overly happy about winning, their wives pointed out.
Both men were rather disappointed that the council had given up so quickly.
These eighteen months had been some of the most enjoyable of their lives.
“Is no one prepared to fight for their principles anymore?” Rune had wondered.
“Not a damn one,” Ove had answered. And then they said a toast to unworthy enemies.
That was long before the coup d’état in the Residents’ Association, of course.
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