Ove liked people who didn’t do what Patrick told them to do.
There were drawings everywhere on the walls in her room. Black-and-white pencil sketches, mostly.
Not at all bad, considering they had been created by the absence of deductive faculties
and highly undeveloped motor function of a seven-year-old, Ove was willing to admit.
None of them were of people. Only houses. Ove found this extremely engaging.
He stepped into the room and stood beside her. She looked up from the computer with the dour expression this kid always seemed to lug about with her,
and in fact she didn’t seem too pleased about his presence.
But when Ove stayed where he was, she pointed at last to an upside-down storage crate, made of plastic, on the floor.
Ove sat down on it. And she started quietly explaining to him that the game was about building houses and then making cities out of the houses.
“I like houses,” she muttered quietly. Ove looked at her. She looked at him.
Ove put his index finger on the screen, leaving a large fingerprint,
pointing at an empty space of the town and asking her what happened if she clicked that spot.
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