A MAN CALLED OVE AND A BOY IN THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR
Ove has brought along a blue plastic deck chair to push into the snow and sit on.
This could take a while, he knows. It always does when he has to tell Sonja something she doesn’t like.
He carefully brushes away all the snow from the gravestone, so they can see each other properly.
In just short of forty years a lot of different kinds of people have had time to pass through their block of row houses.
The house between Ove’s and Rune’s has been lived in by quiet, loud, peculiar, unbearable, and hardly noticeable kinds of people.
Families have lived there whose teenage children pissed on the fence when they were drunk,
or families who tried to plant nonapproved bushes in the garden,
and families who got the idea that they wanted to paint their house pink.
And if there was one single thing Ove and Rune agreed on, irrespective of how much they were feuding at the time,
it was that whoever currently populated the neighbor’s house tended to be utter imbeciles.
At the end of the 1980s the house was bought by a man who was apparently some sort of bank manager—
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