“Awesome! Wait... ah, shit... I can’t pick it up today! I have to go to my other job!
But tomorrow, man, I can come tomorrow. Is it cool if I pick it up tomorrow, like, instead?”
Ove tilts his head and looks as if everything that’s just been said came from the mouth of a character in an animated film.
The youth takes a deep breath and pulls himself together.
“What other job?” asks Ove, as if he’s had an incomplete answer in the final of Jeopardy!
“I sort of work in a café in the evenings and at the weekends,” says the youth,
with that new-won hope in his eyes about perhaps being able to rescue his fantasy relationship with a girlfriend
who doesn’t even know that she’s his girlfriend— the sort of relationship that only a boy in late puberty with greasy hair can have.
“I need both jobs because I’m saving money,” he explains. “For what?” “A car.”
Ove can’t avoid noticing how he straightens up slightly when he says “car.”
Ove looks dubious for a moment. Then he slowly but watchfully slaps the baton into his palm again.
“What sort of car?” “I had a look at a Renault,” the youth says brightly, stretching a little more.
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