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About Chania

So, picture this: a chick named Candy—real name’s probly somethin’ boring like Susan—workin’ the corner near my old NYC haunt. She’s got this ratty fur coat, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. I’m thinkin’, “Girl, you’re naked under there, aren’t ya?”—straight outta Toni’s weird nudist scene! Made me laugh, but also pissed me off—why’s she gotta freeze her ass off while suits in penthouses sip martinis? Ugh, the unfairness kills me! Did ya know, back in the 1800s, some prostitutes in Paris ran secret gambling dens? Badass! Candy probly could too, if she wasn’t dodgin’ cops.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kallinikou Street. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m not a coffee snob, but this stuff? Liquid gold. I grab my usual, a freddo cappuccino, and sit outside. The view of the harbor? Breathtaking. But then, bam! A seagull swoops down and steals my croissant. Like, dude, really? I’m just trying to enjoy my breakfast here!

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