“Because you’re a bender?” Ove clarifies. Mirsad nods.
“I don’t have any relatives here in town. I was going to stay the night at Adrian’s, but his mum’s new boyfriend is staying...”
He goes quiet. Looks like he’s feeling very silly. “It was an idiotic idea,” he says in a low voice and makes a move to turn around and leave.
Adrian, on the other hand, seems to be rediscovering a desire for discussion, and he stumbles eagerly through the snow towards Ove.
“What the hell, Ove! You’ve got a load of space in there! So we thought maybe he could crash here tonight?”
“Here? This is not a damned hotel!” says Ove, raising the rifle so that Adrian’s chest collides right into the barrel.
Adrian freezes. Mirsad takes two quick steps forward through the snow and puts his hand on the rifle.
“We had nowhere else to go, sorry,” he says in a low voice while gently turning the barrel away from Adrian.
Ove looks like he’s coming to his senses slightly. He lowers his weapon to the ground.
When he almost imperceptibly takes a half step backwards into the hall,
as if he’s only now become aware of the cold which envelops his not-so-well-dressed body,
he notices, from the corner of his eye, the photo of Sonja on the wall. The red dress. The bus trip to Spain when she was pregnant.
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