away we go paros bound; shoot through economy class, coach straight into business, stride on in and fuck it: even the luggage takes a table.
and of course it’s all fun and games against the tide and the nausea kicks us all in the gut and we toss the sesame bread rings we ate just minutes before.
arrival and everything is as you left it and not at all as you remember it: wasn’t the tavern on the beach? weren’t the buildings whiter? barkers less persistent? “Hotel cousin? Where are you staying? Come with me!”
in greek, in english, the language of commerce and despair share the same grammar.