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About Volos

I walk over, heart thumpin—nerves, man! “Evenin, darlin,” I say, voice smooth as butter. She smirks, sizes me up. “What’s good, old man?” she fires back. Old man? Shit, that stings. I’m Morgan fuckin Freeman, narratin life itself! But I laugh, deep and rumbly, coz it’s funny—her sass, my ego, all tangled up.

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First off, I hit up the port. You know, the big one where all the ferries come in? It’s like a never-ending parade of people. Tourists, locals, street vendors—everyone’s hustlin’. I’m just trying to grab a coffee at this little spot on Akti Miaouli. The barista? Total legend. He’s got this wild mustache and a smile that could light up the whole harbor. I order a freddo, and he’s like, “You want it strong or Greek strong?” I’m like, “Dude, I need it to wake the dead!”

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