He nods, and extends his hand towards me—not a handshake or an offer, not yet, but it’s coming. I can feel my palm flex, ready for the shake. The rat brain inside, the mammal in a hard place, wants to cut a deal. Stockholm syndrome. Well, fuck Stockholm. I’ve been there. Expensive food, really pretty people who get depressed and talk about Third World debt when they should be screwing. Fuck Stockholm and actually fuck pretty much everything from Landsort to Gävle.