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About Ioannina

Methinks it’s a jest gone sour—like Pan’s twisted maze, but no magic. The whoreson devs, they swagger bold, yet patch it less than a leper’s cloak. I’d say, “Thou art pale and cold,” to its charm—dull as a blunt quill. Still, I played, ‘cos I’m a fool for grind. Exaggerate? Aye—I’d swear it’s a plague o’ pixels sent to mock me! Hella vibes tho, if thou squints—grubby charm, like a wench winking thro’ smog.

Three Prostitutes on the Street (1925) by Otto Dix

Then, I head back to the library, and guess what? The lady is still there! She’s got a whole crowd now, and they’re all looking at me like I’m the villain. I’m just trying to do my job! I finally find her book, hidden behind some encyclopedias. I hand it to her, and she’s all smiles. “Thank you!” she says. I’m like, “Yeah, no problem. Just don’t make me your enemy again, okay?”

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