Ove confirms to himself, only an utterly meaningless person would prefer to wear rather than getting himself a proper job.
The clown looks gaily at Ove. “Has Uncle got a five-kronor piece, perhaps?”
“No, Uncle doesn’t, perhaps,” Ove replies. The clown looks surprised. Which isn’t an entirely successful look for a clown.
“But... listen, it’s a magic trick, you do have a coin on you, don’t you?” mumbles the clown in his more normal voice,
which contrasts quite strongly with his character
and reveals that behind this idiotic clown a quite ordinary idiot is hiding, probably all of twenty-five years old.
“Come on, I’m a hospital clown. It’s for the children’s sake. I’ll give it back.”
“Just give him a five-kronor coin,” says the seven-year-old. “CLAAUUWN!” screams the three-year-old.
Ove peers down with exasperation at the tiny speech defect and wrinkles his nose.
“Right,” he says, taking out a five-kronor piece from his wallet. Then he points at the clown.
“But I want it back. Immediately. I’m paying for the parking with that.”
The clown nods eagerly and snatches the coin out of his hand.
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