"A blonde woman called Katrine has been damaged. This may present in various ways, but almost always includes complete obsession about her work, motivated by some Past Hurt that renders her understanding boss hesitant to involve her in certain projects. She will always insist, his reservations will always be proven correct, pouting will inevitably follow.
"Any man called Stefan invariably has a sister who was abused, usually as a child, though on occasion he himself may have been abused as a child. Stefan is always trying to avenge the abuse or put the world to rights as a result of it. Complex beings, Stefans. It seldom ends well.
"Someone presents with some type of Asperger's - usually a woman, who usually has someone - but usually only some*one* - in her corner. Solving the puzzle of people is as much a challenge as solving the crime. But she's good, and we're in awe of how she cuts through the extraneous detail to zero in on what really matters. Of course there are costs, and of course they are high.
"No one uses curtains. Double beds feature separate single duvets, enhancing dramatic effect as partners turn their backs on each other and present impenetrable fortresses to the rejected partner. No one ever takes the opportunity to come clean with their partner and prevent it all getting so much worse. Everyone is a hardarse.
"Landscapes are brooding, full of foreboding and painful beauty. There is no ugly furniture, unless the squalor is painted deliberately - the drug-addled underbelly, peopled with white suprematism and trafficking of the vulnerable is never far away. "Martin" is usually a good guy, "Morten" a competent one. No one is simply good or bad, however - everyone is scarred, swallowing down their bitter pasts with their coffee and presenting a brave face. Mourning is borne with dignity, but a complex array of subtle emotions can be conveyed with no discernible change of expression. Hollywood looks positively gurning by comparison.
"Something is always solved, but nothing is ever really resolved."
Gramsci looked at the Cow, puzzled. She shrugged and nodded. "That pretty much sums it up," she concurred. "But right now, we need to fika."
"Arrive?" asked Gramsci, puzzled. He was used to the Cow dropping odd words and phrases from home into her conversation.
"Nope - Swedish fika, not Xhosa. It involves coffee, and something tasty."
"Same thing," muttered Gramsci, rubbing his eight hands together eagerly. "Sofika nini?"