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The fluorescent lights of the ABC gas station in Vörå did not just buzz; they hummed with the profound sadness of a Saturday night in rural Finland.
Inside, Linda was currently achieving peak 9B goddess status. She stood by the coffee machine, leaning against the counter with the bored elegance of a supermodel trapped in a tractor dealership. Her hair was teased to a height that defied both gravity and local building codes.
Outside, a teenager named Tony was aggressively revving a moped that sounded like an angry chainsaw trapped in a tin can. Linda sighed. It was exhausting being this iconic.
Suddenly, the automatic doors burst open. In staggered Daisy.
Daisy looked like she had been put through a commercial washing machine on the "rave" cycle. Her eyeliner was smeared across her forehead, she was wearing one shoe, and she smelled strongly of cheap sour-apple shots and desperation.
"What an absolute katastrof," Daisy announced to the empty store, grabbing a bag of cheese snacks and a lukewarm meat pie.
Linda turned slowly, her lip gloss gleaming under the harsh neon. She looked Daisy up and down with the clinical precision of a health inspector. "Did you get dressed in the dark, Daisy? Or did you just get hit by a tractor on the way to the party?"
Daisy paused, a cheese snack hovering near her mouth. She sniffed loudly in a heavy Vörå dialect. "Hördu, at least my outfit tells a story. Your outfit just says 'I spend four hours a day looking at mirrors in the school hallway.' Besides, jåo, nåo e ja jåo YOLO ja nåo. You only live once, Linda!"
"YOLO is dead, Daisy. Just like your social life," Linda replied, tossing her hair so hard she nearly took out a display of windscreen wiper fluid. "I saw you at the village club. You were letting an old man buy you a shot. That man is literally seventy."
Daisy gasped, dropping a cheese snack. "Okay, first of all, he told me he was thirty-five and just had a very stressful paper route! Second of all... okay, yes, I realized halfway through the drink that he gave me a silver spoon for my confirmation. He is friends with my parents, Tom and Gunilla. It was traumatising, Linda! I had to sprint through a potato field to escape!"
"Tragic," Linda said, completely unbothered. "Meanwhile, Tony is outside on his siisti mopo. A pristine, tuned moped. That is real class. He bought me a battery-powered milk frother for our anniversary."
Daisy let out a laugh that sounded like a seagull choking on a chip. "A moped? Linda, he’s sixteen! His voice cracks when he asks for a hot dog! I am out here living on the edge. I am an international woman of mystery!"
"You are standing in an ABC gas station at 2:00 AM with one sock on," Linda pointed out.
Daisy cracked open a neon-blue energy drink. "Anyway. My cousin is outside in a Volvo 740. The exhaust pipe is held together by duct tape, but the heated seats work. Want a ride back to the party?"
Linda looked out at the freezing Ostrobothnian night, then at Tony, who had just accidentally driven his moped into a snowbank. She sighed, her pristine facade cracking.
"Fine," Linda snapped, grabbing her handbag. "But we are playing my playlist. And if your cousin plays any accordion music, I am jumping out of the moving vehicle."