Every IT consultant trumpeting some data-code diagnosis
and wearing one of those non-gender- specific cardigans they all have to wear these days would put up a hook any old way.
But Ove’s hook is going to be as solid as a rock.
He’s going to screw it in so hard that when the house is demolished it’ll be the last thing standing.
In a few days there’ll be some stuck-up real estate agent standing here with a tie knot as big as a baby’s head,
banging on about “renovation potential” and “spatial efficiency,” and he’ll have all sorts of opinions about Ove, the bastard.
But he won’t be able to say a word about Ove’s hook.
On the floor in the living room is one of Ove’s “useful-stuff” boxes.
That’s how they divide up the house. All the things Ove’s wife has bought are “lovely” or “homey.”
Everything Ove buys is useful. Stuff with a function. He keeps them in two different boxes, one big and one small.
This is the small one. Full of screws and nails and wrench sets and that sort of thing.
People don’t have useful things anymore. People just have shit.
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