Parvaneh nods eagerly at him and points triumphantly at Ove. “He said that’s what it’s called!”
The Lanky One mumbles something inaudible. “And you’re just like ‘Whoa, it’s an Eileen key!’”
Parvaneh jeers. He looks slightly crestfallen. “I never sounded like that.”
“You did so!” “Did not!” “Yes you DID!” “I DIDN’T!”
Ove’s gaze travels from one to the other, like a large dog watching two mice interfering with its sleep.
“You did,” says one of them. “That’s what you think,” the other one says.
“Everyone says it!” “The majority is not always right!” “Shall we Google it or what?”
“Sure! Google it! Wikipedia it!” “Give me your phone.”
“Use your own!” “Duh! I haven’t got it with me, dipshit!” “Sorry to hear that!”
Ove looks at them as their pathetic argument drones on.
They remind him of two malfunctioning radiators, making high-pitched whines at each other.
“Good God,” he mutters. Parvaneh starts imitating what Ove assumes must be some kind of flying insect.
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