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About Larissa

So, I met this chick once—Roxy, she called herself. Worked the corner near my buildin’. Red heels, fishnets, the whole deal. I’d see her, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost—like some noir film, ya know? I’d nod, she’d wink. One night, she hops in my elevator—bam! Smells like cheap perfume and trouble. “Goin’ up?” I ask. She laughs, says, “Ain’t I always?” Got me good, that one—sharp as a tack.

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Then, I decide to stroll down to the beach. Voula’s coastline is just stunning, man. The waves crashing, the sun glistening off the water. I’m feeling good, vibing with the sea breeze. But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches my bougatsa! Like, what the actual heck?! I’m standing there, mouth agape, watching my breakfast fly away. I’m pretty sure I yelled something like, “Hey! That’s mine, you feathered thief!” But it just cawed at me and flew off. Rude.

Voula's to reopen after tragedy