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About Patras

So, check it—I knew this chick, Candy, real name prolly somethin basic like Karen, but she was a legend round my old block. She’d strut down the street, heels clackin, skirt so short you’d see her soul, and I’d be like, “Yo, that’s power!” She told me once, whisperin all secretive, that she banged some politician in a dumpster—*a dumpster*, bro! Said he paid her double to keep it hush. Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories that’d make your jaw drop, shit you won’t find on Google, nah mean? I was happy as hell hearin that, like, “Get that bag, girl!” but also pissed—why’s the world gotta make her hide it?

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But then, I get a text from my buddy. He’s like, “Let’s hit the beach!” I’m in! So, I race down to the beach at Kalamia. The sand’s warm, and the waves are crashing. I kick off my shoes and run into the water. It’s freezing, but I don’t care. I’m laughing, splashing around like a kid.

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