He had a remote control for the door, but had never understood the point of it. An honest person could just as well open the door manually.
He unlocked the Saab, also with a key: the system had always worked perfectly well, there was no reason to change it.
He sat in the driver’s seat and twisted the tuning dial half forward and then half back
before adjusting each of the mirrors, as he did every time he got into the Saab.
As if someone routinely broke into the Saab and mischievously changed Ove’s mirrors and radio channels.
As he drove across the parking area he passed that Pregnant Foreign Woman from next door.
She was holding her three-year-old by the hand. The big blond Lanky One was walking beside her.
All three of them caught sight of Ove and waved cheerfully. Ove didn’t wave back.
At first he was going to stop and give her a dressing-down about letting children run about in the parking area
as if it were some municipal playground. But he decided he didn’t have the time.
He drove along, passing row after row of houses identical to his own.
When they’d first moved in here there were only six houses; now there were hundreds of them.
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