Vera’s has flowery wallpaper, lots of vinyl booths, and mountainous diner-style breakfasts served by ladies who keep your coffee full and call you “hon.” Globes of whipped butter melt on fluffy pancakes, and every plate comes with a half-moon of navel orange. Newspaper-reading old men sit at the counter; nearby, the mirror in a refrigerated case tantalizingly reflects a pie. Warm 106.9 FM plays rock so soft, it slowly, pleasantly damages your brain. Vera’s is old-school, old Ballard, what passes in this country for old-world. Vera’s is good. Vera’s does not take credit cards.