He became aware of an ache in his breast; it took a long, long time before he understood what it was.
Hate. He hated those men in white shirts. He couldn’t remember having hated anyone before, but now it was like a ball of fire inside.
Ove’s parents had bought this house. Ove had grown up here. Learned to walk.
His father had taught him everything there was to know about a Saab engine here.
And after all that, someone at a municipal authority decided something else should be built here.
And a man with a round face sold insurance that was not insurance.
A man in a white shirt prevented Ove from putting out a fire and now two other white shirts stood here talking about a “market price.”
But Ove really did not have a choice. He could have stood there until the sun had completely risen, but he could not change the situation.
So he signed their document. While keeping his fist clenched in his pocket.
He left the plot where once his parental home had stood, and he never looked back.
Rented a little room from an old lady in town. Sat and stared desolately at the wall all day. In the evening he went to work.
Cleaned the train compartments. In the morning, he and the other workers were told not to go to their usual changing rooms;
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