And the letter is most likely advertising, Ove imagines.
Admittedly his name and address have been written in longhand on the front, but that’s a typical advertising trick.
To make one think it’s a letter from a real person, and then one opens it and in a flash one has been subjected to marketing.
That trick won’t work on Ove. The youth stands there rocking on his heels and looking down at the ground.
As if he’s struggling with something inside that wants to come out.
“Was there something else?” Ove wonders. The youth pulls his hand through his greasy, late-pubescent shock of hair.
“Ah, what the hell... I was just wondering if you have a wife called Sonja,” he manages to say.
Ove looks suspicious. The lad points at the envelope.
“I saw the surname. I had a teacher with that name. Was just wondering...”
He seems to be cursing himself for having said anything. He spins around on the spot and starts walking away.
Ove clears his throat and kicks the threshold. “Wait... that could be right. What about Sonja?”
The lad stops a yard farther away. “Ah, shit... I just liked her, that’s all I wanted to say.”
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