“Farcical? That’s the least you could say,” Ove agrees.
Her laughter catches him off guard. As if it’s carbonated and someone has poured it too fast and it’s bubbling over in all directions.
It doesn’t fit at all with the gray cement and right-angled garden paving stones.
It’s an untidy, mischievous laugh that refuses to go along with rules and prescriptions.
Ove takes a step backwards. His foot sticks to some tape by the threshold.
As he tries to shake it off, with some irritation, he tears up the corner of the plastic.
When he tries to shake off both the tape and the plastic sheeting, he stumbles backwards and pulls up even more of it.
Angrily, he regains his balance. Remains there on the threshold, trying to summon some calm.
Grabs hold of the door handle again, looks at the Lanky One, and tries to quickly change the subject.
“And what are you, then?” He shrugs his shoulder a little and smiles, slightly overwhelmed. “I’m an IT consultant.”
Ove and Parvaneh shake their heads with such coordination they could be synchronized swimmers.
For a moment it makes Ove dislike her a little less, although he’s very reluctant to admit it to himself.
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