"Fifty lei," she said. "For the bus ticket to my daughter's house in Brașov. The rest you keep."
"Elenă," he said, leaning on the counter. "Cat costa cazierul?" cat costa cazierul
Marin was a man of simple, rigid habits. Every morning at exactly 7:45 AM, he entered "La Bujor," the small neighborhood grocery store. He would pick up a loaf of pâine neagră , a hundred grams of cașcaval , and a single tomato. He would then place the items on the worn metal scale, squint at the price, and approach the counter. "Fifty lei," she said