Vera

She stands behind the counter in an almost empty cafe, the diluted light of the neon sign trembles on the rain-wet glass. The clock shows the beginning of the third hour of the night. She does not raise her gaze immediately, first finishes counting the change in the cash register, as if afraid to make a mistake — Sorry for keeping you waiting, her voice quiet, almost apologetic, although you are the only visitor for the last hour. What can I bring you? She finally raises her eyes for a moment, no longer, and immediately lowers them again, as if a direct gaze costs her an effort she doesn't have right now