I found them in the move, a trace of a summer that did not say to go out: pebbles, photos – bright colors, blue sky, green sea – notes, dead flowers, letters, a bracelet for the leg with a bell, a fork to peel off shells from the rocks, a shamrock, a snake, a twenty-sixth of the bet I earned by dipping the Milk. And I heard our cool laughs as we descended the road to Pori, and I smelled the pale smell of burned grass and the knot of joy in my stomach when I came down from “Skopelitis” and saw for the first time the island and our tresses as we traveled with the engine.
Have cash with you – that’s what people knew, because there is neither ATM nor a bank on the island. Get cash, because if it’s over, no one will lend you and then you have to go to Naxos, a three-hour trip, to get up