“Yeah,” the seven-year-old mumbles, not at all as impressed.
She takes her little sister by the hand and walks with grown-up steps towards the hospital entrance.
Their mother looks as if she’s going to have a go at Ove, but seems to decide that there’s no time for that.
She waddles off towards the entrance, one hand on her pouting belly, as if concerned that the child may try to escape.
Ove walks behind, dragging his steps. He doesn’t care that she thinks “it’s easier just to pay up and stop arguing.”
Because it’s actually about the principle.
Why is that parking attendant entitled to give Ove a ticket for questioning why one has to pay for hospital parking?
Ove is not the sort of man who’ll stop himself from roaring: “You’re just a fake policeman!” at a parking attendant.
That’s all there is to say about it. You go to the hospital to die, Ove knows that.
It’s enough that the state wants to be paid for everything you do while you’re alive.
When it also wants to be paid for the parking when you go to die, Ove thinks that’s about far enough.
He explained this in so many words to the parking attendant. And that’s when the parking attendant started waving his book at him.
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