Olle Petersen is sitting in front of the photographer. “I want to look like Bergman.” “No, stop looking like Bergman! Take your hands down!” “Ai, but try to think of hands the next time you drive through a city. Look out the window. Everything was built with hands like mine and yours.” “I can only see a pear tree. Take your hands down and look more friendly!” “Don’t I look friendly? How about this?” Snap snap. The photographer presents a few of, by Olles standards, uncommonly common opinions. “I’ll never learn to regard me. Just me.” Snap snap. The photographer takes a sip of tea. He meets a lot of hysterical persons in his profession. Olle Petersen is misunderstood but quite clever. Evening falls in Henrik.
