The air around the two men stops for a hundredth of a breath or so. An eerie silence suddenly envelops them.
If this were a scene from a film, the camera would very likely have time to pan 360 degrees around them before Ove finally loses his composure.
“Renault? Renault? That’s bloody FRENCH! You can’t bloody well go and buy a FRENCH car!!!”
The youth seems just about to say something but he doesn’t get the chance
before Ove shakes his whole upper body as if trying to get rid of a persistent wasp.
“Christ, you puppy! Don’t you know anything about cars?” The youth shakes his head.
Ove sighs deeply and puts his hand on his forehead as if he’s been struck by a sudden migraine.
“And how are you going to get the bicycle to the café if you don’t have a car?” he says at long last, visibly struggling to regain his composure.
“I hadn’t... thought about that,” says the youth. Ove shakes his head. “Renault? Christ almighty...”
The youth nods. Ove rubs his eyes in frustration. “Where’s this sodding café you work at, then?” he mutters.
Twenty minutes later, Parvaneh opens her front door in surprise. Ove is standing outside, thoughtfully striking his hand with a paper baton.
Have you got one of those green signs?” “What?” “You have to have one of those green signs when you’re a student driver.
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