Philosophy, Foul Fruit & Facial Hair in Athens
It was almost midnight when we jumped on the bus at the airport in Athens. The ride from the airport to the city was long, but the bus moved fast, whooshing us past hundreds of signs written in Greek that we couldn't understand. A little while later, we reached the terminus and stepped out on to the street. Standing there to greet us: a man in a suit with a soul patch. The silvery-metallic sheen of his hair, the same as his suit. His purple shirt was unbuttoned way too low - like, Bee Gees low."Taxi?" He leads us across the street to his car, throws our suitcase in the trunk. I crawl in the seat behind him. Olivier gets in next to me. Soul Patch gets in and his seat is reclined so far that he's almost laying down. Thanks a lot, Soul Patch. We tell him we're going to the Apollo Hotel on Achilleos street. He lights up a cigarette...