As if it was his duty to fling himself out of the way as soon as these morons decided speed restrictions didn’t apply to them.
Honestly. Ove didn’t move. The Mercedes gave him a burst of its high beams again.
Ove slowed down. The Mercedes sounded its horn. Ove lowered his speed to 15 mph.
When they reached the top of a hill the Mercedes overtook him with a roar.
The driver, a man in his forties in a tie and with white cables trailing from his ears, held up his finger through the window at Ove.
Ove responded to the gesture in the manner of all men of a certain age who’ve been properly raised:
by slowly tapping the tip of his finger against the side of his head.
The man in the Mercedes shouted until his saliva spattered against the inside of his windshield, then put his foot down and disappeared.
Two minutes later Ove came to a red light. The Mercedes was at the back of the line.
Ove flashed his lights at it. He saw the driver craning his neck around. The white earpieces dropped out and fell against the dashboard.
Ove nodded with satisfaction. The light turned green. The line didn’t move. Ove sounded his horn.
Nothing happened. Ove shook his head. Must be a woman driver. Or roadwork. Or an Audi.
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