They’re chain-smoking long menthol cigarettes.
On Ove’s side of the track it’s empty but for three overdimensioned municipal employees in their midthirties in workmen’s trousers and hard hats,
standing in a ring and staring down into a hole. Around them is a carelessly erected loop of cordon tape.
One of them has a mug of coffee from 7-Eleven; another is eating a banana; the third is trying to poke his cell phone without removing his gloves.
It’s not going so well. And the hole stays where it is.
And still we’re surprised when the whole world comes crashing down in a financial crisis, Ove thinks.
When people do little more than standing around eating bananas and looking into holes in the ground all day.
He checks his watch. One minute left. He stands at the edge of the platform. Balancing the soles of his shoes over the edge.
It’s a fall of no more than five feet, he estimates. Five and a half, possibly.
There’s a certain symbolism in a train taking his life and he doesn’t like this much.
He doesn’t think the train driver should have to see the awfulness of it, so he has decided to jump when the train is very close,
so it’s rather the side of the first carriage that throws him onto the rails than the big windshield at the front.
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