Nuray hops off the stool she's been perched on, newspaper rifling as she folds it neatly and sets it down. It's slow most nights, which suits her as she's still learning, and she finds ways to occupy her time in between customers.

Still, she's pleased to see someone and it shows on her face as she leans over the counter from behind, peering down at the trays of donuts. She has arranged them by colour and then shape into aesthetically pleasing patterns. "None of the ones with holes," she says after some examining, "and the ones without, all of them on this tray are jelly, not cream." When she looks up after that, she smiles rather gently, but pleased with herself; she knew nothing about donuts until yesterday, it being totally outside of her experience. Now she is practically an expert.