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About Patras

She’d swagger in, all dolled up, orderin’ a gin. “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot,” I’d mutter, quotin’ the film, all posh-like. She’d roll her eyes, “Boris, you prat, gimme a drink!” Loved that sass, got me proper chuffed. But, cor blimey, some punters—absolute rotters—treated her like muck. Made me blood boil, it did. Once saw this toff, all la-di-da, hagglin’ her down to a fiver. A fiver! Wanted to clock him, I did. “Efface him from your mind,” I told her, all dramatic, like Joel in the movie. She just smirked, “He’s already gone, love.”

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First off, I hit up the main street, the one that runs through the heart of Afantou. It’s called, uh, I think it’s Dimokratias? Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, I’m cruising down, feeling good, when BAM! I see this old lady trying to cross the street. She’s like a tortoise on a mission. I’m thinking, “C’mon, lady, you can do it!” But then, outta nowhere, this scooter zooms past. I mean, seriously? Who gave that dude a license?

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