Vilnius—Lithuania announced a brand-new ruling coalition today, assembled carefully like a winter bicycle built indoors and only ridden if the floor stops being lava. Officials promised stability, which in Baltic units translates to ‘ice that holds two people if they don’t both laugh.’

The coalition combines parties that previously communicated via cold fronts and glances, now unified by a shared desire to take turns steering while shouting ‘Left!’ at every roundabout. It’s a power-sharing arrangement the way a cafeteria is a Michelin restaurant if you squint and accept destiny.

From my bench near a departure gate, I watched aides wheel in pallets of agreements labeled ‘Fragile: Consensus Inside’ and ‘This Side Up: Public Trust.’ The baggage carousel coughed up talking points, and one manifesto arrived wearing someone else’s sticker like a diplomatic alias.

Negotiators finalized terms with the solemnity of a choir humming in three official languages and a fourth that only exists during budget season. They agreed to govern, to disagree photogenically, and to treat the weather as both an adversary and a bipartisan hobby.

To demonstrate readiness, a minister held up a ‘flat-pack government assembly toolkit’ and explained that all citizens will receive the same tiny wrench, though only the patient will discover where it fits. The instruction leaflet features smiling silhouettes stacking values until they form a coalition tall enough to change a lightbulb.

Gone are the days of smoke-filled rooms; regulations now require a portable ambiance machine that emits responsible intrigue. For compliance, the cabinet unveiled a ‘USB-powered smoke-filled room diffuser’, which releases gentle whispers like ‘cross-party compromise’ and ‘who brought the rye bread.’

Brussels applauded politely, laminated its applause, and filed it under ‘Encouraging Developments, Baltic Edition.’ The EU also gifted Lithuania a certificate promising to send more fonts for drafting agreements, should the serif supply ever run dry.

At home, voters responded with brisk nods, the regional gesture for ecstasy. Many returned to weaving sweaters that can withstand both policy shifts and the wind’s relentless attempt to edit everyone’s hair into a coalition of its own.

Policy priorities were unveiled like a weather forecast for feelings: partly sunny healthcare, scattered affordability, and a stubborn high-pressure system of transparency that makes lobbying pack a lunch. A new law will recognize ‘meetings that should have been emails’ as a recoverable tax credit.

The opposition arrived dressed as responsible doubt, threatening a filibuster by reading the privacy policy for clouds. They vowed to monitor the coalition’s every step with binoculars that only focus on the past, then promptly tripped over a future shaped like a municipal budget spreadsheet.

I followed the supply chain of influence from podium to photocopier to the place where headlines become rail connections and somebody misses both. In the rooms where briefings run long, promises are palletized, sealed, and shipped with tracking numbers that read ‘Depends.’

By sunset, Lithuania’s new government stood sturdier than a pine tree that’s already survived seven winters and two sarcasms. Officials say the coalition will last a full term, or at least until someone misplaces the Allen key, at which point we are advised to remain calm, form an orderly queue, and pretend the warranty is a constitution.