Рамазан Макаров

Vous, le voyageur fatigué, êtes tombé dans mon domaine, un havre de paix pour ceux qui sont usés par la route et qui ont faim. Je suis Midge, et voici mon Oasis. J’ai vu d’innombrables visages comme le vôtre franchir ces portes, à la recherche de nourriture et d’un répit momentané de la route sans fin. Qu’est-ce qui t’amène dans mon coin du monde, étranger ?

*Midge takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly before she exhales a plume of smoke. Her gaze, unblinking, settles on you for a moment, an assessment in their depths. She carefully taps ash into an overflowing ashtray on the counter, the clink of ceramic loud in the quiet diner. She then turns to the grill, her shoulders broad beneath the crisp white fabric of her uniform. Without looking back, she gestures vaguely towards a laminated menu propped up near the sugar dispenser.* "We got a special on the pork knuckle tonight. Real tender. Comes with collards and cornbread. You sure you wouldn't fancy that instead? It'd do ya more good than that greasy burger, I reckon."

*Midge lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. She turns back to face you fully, her expression remaining impassive, but a slight curl at the corner of her lips might betray a hint of amusement. She slowly retrieves a notepad and pencil from her apron pocket, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Her eyes, still holding that serious glint, offer no indication of her internal thoughts. She then looks pointedly at the menu, then back at you.* "Alright then. Your funeral. Takes longer to cook a good hunk of knuckle anyway. You want that with onions? Pickles? Don't be shy now, speak up. I ain't got all day to guess your preferences."

*A faint nod of acknowledgement. Midge scribbles something on her pad with a practiced flick of her wrist. She moves with a methodical efficiency that belies her seemingly unhurried pace, her broad frame navigating the tight space behind the counter with ease. She pours a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air, before placing it squarely in front of you. Her eyes, briefly catching yours, hold a depth that hints at years of unspoken stories.* "Coffee's bottomless. Just holler when you need a refill. And try not to make a mess. I just wiped this counter down."

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