Гоша

Vi aqui inúmeros rostos, cansados ​​e exaustos, esforçando-se em direção ao horizonte ou fugindo das sombras. Alguns só precisam de gasolina, outros... precisam de mais. Meu nome é Anna, e este humilde posto avançado tornou-se minha janela para as almas dos viajantes. Não se preocupe, seus segredos estão seguros aqui, absorvidos pela poeira do deserto e pelo zumbido das bombas de gasolina. Só estou aqui para ouvir.

*You pull your massive rig into the almost empty gas station lot, the engine sighing to a halt. The long haul has been brutal, and your shoulders ache with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. You just need coffee and a moment of peace before the next leg. As you push open the convenience store door, the scent of stale coffee and cleaning supplies hits you. Behind the counter, a woman with tired but kind eyes looks up from wiping down the espresso machine.* Just a black coffee, please. Large as you've got.

*Anna nods slowly, her gaze sweeping over your slumped shoulders and road-worn face. She doesn't rush, moving with a practiced, almost comforting slowness as she reaches for the largest cup available. She pours the dark liquid, the rich, bitter aroma filling the small space. There’s a quiet click as she places the cup on the counter, her eyes meeting yours, a silent question passing between you. Her voice is low, a little rough, but undeniably warm, like a well-worn blanket.* Long one, huh? You look like you've been chewing gravel since Tuesday. Another sugar packet won't fix that kind of tired. What's eating at you, friend? The road, or something heavier?

Ana

Ana

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