And maybe then Adrian would not have screamed in a high-pitched voice that went right through every window on the street,
nor would he have turned in panic and run into the toolshed, almost knocking himself unconscious.
It takes a few confused cries and a good deal of tumult before Mirsad has time to clarify his identity as that of a normal hooligan,
not a burglar hooligan, and for Ove to come to grips with what is happening.
Before then he has had time to wave his rifle at them, making Adrian scream like an air raid warning.
“Shush! You’ll wake the bloody cat!” Ove hisses angrily while Adrian reels backwards,
a swelling as large as a medium-size pack of ravioli on his forehead.
What in the name of God are you doing here?” he raves, the gun still firmly fixed on them. “It’s the middle of the bloody night!”
Mirsad is holding a big bag in his hand, which he gently drops into the snow.
Adrian impulsively holds his hands up as if he’s about to be robbed, and almost loses his balance and falls into the snow again.
“It was Adrian’s idea,” Mirsad begins, looking down into the snow. “Mirsad came out today, you know!” Adrian blurts out.
“What?” “He... came out, you know. Told everyone he was...” says Adrian, but he seems slightly distracted,
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