Jacob and I sit in a bar close to the train station in Karleby. A drunk, who sits at a table next to us, offers us lollipops. We take one each, that we save for later. The man insists that we have more, and he tells us he is catching a train shortly. Somewhat later, when we remind him of the time, he wants to give us even more lollipops. All of a sudden he looks sad, rolls up one of his shirt‑sleeves and shows us a big swastika tattooed on his arm.