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About Patras

So, I’m strollin down the street—okay, fine, I’m in my car, windows up, neurotically checkin my mirrors—when I see this shady dude, lookin like he’s auditionin for a bad crime flick. He’s got the trench coat, the sly grin—total “find a prostitute” energy. And I’m like, “Really? REALLY?!” What happened to class, huh? Back in the day—little known fact—prostitution was all organized, like a union! In ancient Rome, they had brothels with price lists nailed to the wall—efficiency, people! Now? It’s all sketchy vibes and awkward eye contact. Makes me wanna scream, “Get a room—or a robot!”

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But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Nikos. He’s like, “Yo, meet me at the square!” I’m like, “Sure, but I’m kinda busy here!” But you know how it is. Friends before murals, right? So I say bye to the artist and head to the square.

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