Ove’s brain seems to need a good few moments to process this information, which, to him, is utterly beyond belief.
“What’s your job?” he asks. “What’s that got to do with it?” she replies.
“Surely it’s got everything to do with it?” “I’m a real estate agent.”
Ove nods. “And no driver’s license?” “No.” Ove shakes his head grimly,
as if this is the very pinnacle of being a human being who doesn’t take responsibility for anything.
Parvaneh smiles that little teasing smile of hers again, scrunches up the empty french fries bag, and opens the door.
Look at it this way, Ove: Do you really want anyone else to teach me to drive in the residential area?
She gets out of the car and goes to the trash can.
Ove doesn’t answer. He just snorts. Jimmy shows up in the doorway.
“Can I eat in the car?” he asks, a piece of chicken sticking out of his mouth.
At first Ove thinks of saying no, but then realizes they’ll never get out of here at this rate.
Instead, he spreads so many newspapers over the passenger seat and floor that it’s as if he’s preparing to give the car a respray.
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