Then feeds the tube through the open back window. Gets into the car.
Closes the door. Adjusts the wing mirrors. Fine-tunes the radio one step forward and one step back.
Leans back in the seat. Closes his eyes. Feels the thick exhaust smoke, cubic inch by cubic inch, filling the garage and his lungs.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You work and pay off the mortgage and pay taxes and do what you should.
You marry. For better or for worse until death do us part, wasn’t that what they agreed?
Ove remembers quite clearly that it was. And she wasn’t supposed to be the first one to die.
Wasn’t it bloody well understood that it was his death they were talking about?
Well, wasn’t it? Ove hears a banging at the garage door. Ignores it. Straightens the creases of his trousers.
Looks at himself in the rearview mirror. Wonders whether perhaps he should have put on a tie.
She always liked it when he wore a tie. She looked at him then as the most handsome man in the world.
He wonders if she will look at him now. If she’ll be ashamed of him turning up in the afterlife unemployed and wearing a dirty suit.
Will she think he’s an idiot who can’t even hold down an honest job without being phased out,
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