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About Heraklion

Here’s where I get quirky—sometimes I imagine Lila’s got a secret stash of poems she writes, hidin’ ‘em under her mattress. Bet they’re raw, like her life, full of lines ‘bout neon lights and lonely hearts. Ain’t that a hoot? Me, sittin’ here, makin’ up poetry for a gal I don’t even know! But it’s ‘cause I’m rootin’ for her, y’know? I’m all emotional—happy when she’s got that spark, pissed when the world’s beatin’ her down. Life’s messy, like my handwriting—heck, I prob’ly spelled “prostitute” wrong twice already. Don’t care. Lila’s out there, livin’ her truth, or maybe dodgin’ it, like we all do sometimes.

Our Friends

After that, I finally get a break. I step outside for some fresh air on Vasilissis Sofias. The sun’s setting, and it’s beautiful. I’m thinkin’, “Maybe today ain’t so bad.” But then, I see this guy trying to parallel park. He’s all over the place, bumping into the curb like it’s a dance partner. I’m cracking up, and then he spots me. He gives me this look like, “Help me!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not your driving instructor!”

Concreting the Slab of the Overpass (Α704) in the area of Vrachnaika of the Patras-Pyrgos Motorway under construction