The Lot

”You do know that if the jobseeker’s allowance doesn’t work out, they’ll put you on integration benefits, right?” Lakse grins through the meatball sandwich.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you.”

“Even though you’re a Danish citizen.”

“I know.”

“Bloody foreigners, the lot.” Lakse picks out a bit of meatball from between his teeth, grins at me and puts it back into his mouth.

“The lot,” he says.

I’m not always sure what to make of the things Lakse says.

 

 

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