It was raining an unpleasant mixture of drizzle and sleet. Under the relative shelter of a porch, the hood of her sweatshirt folded over her head, Darya observed the Lutania, a more than modest-looking restaurant, on the other side of the street. The front, once painted in sparkling green, cracked in multiple places, revealing greyish patches of plaster. The dirty windows, where the partially erased name of the business was exposed, were covered with unbelievably ugly curtains, protecting customers from outside eyes. The place seemed uncrowded, even at lunchtime, and the girl preferred that. A fight in the middle of frantic customers hardly tempted her. Thinking of that, she looked up to the sky. Within an hour, it was loaded with clouds and the sun could no longer distil its rays through
