"There's a traffic camera up ahead. And my phone says you're driving too fast."
I'm in the back seat, playing with the navigator on my phone. My friend lifts an eyebrown but eases up on the accelerator. Rain is smattering on the windshield. My three friends are chatting in Finnish, Swedish and English. One of them is telling us about an autopsy she will have to perform tomorrow, one she is not looking forward to as the body is four weeks old and decomposing fast. The other is unemployed but will volunteer at a alcohol rehabilitation centre this weekend. The third one is being quiet, worn out after a trying day at the nursing school and from taking the language tests she needs to pass as a foreign student.
The heater in the old car is on full blast despite the temperate spring weather outside. I look out at the grey, wet streets. The automated voice in the navigator is reminding us, unnecessarily, of the turn coming up. She sounds a bit annoyed; probably hasn't got over the fact that we ignored her instructions a while back in order to take a detour.
This is today, this is May rain and four friends in an old Volkswagen, and an invaluable stretch of time.
"You give me miles and miles of mountains and I'll ask for the sea" *
* Damien Rice: "Volcano"
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