guerilla warfare

Guerrilla war in the Athens


Athens a confusing in August, what with the heat and pollution, I had spent the night sitting
on a park bench, looking at a white wall lit by moonlight, waiting for a movie, any movie
forenoon staggered into a church and joined a queue; a priest was handing out paper bags of sweet cakes, but the old lady behind got none since she had been in the line three times. I ate a cake and gave the rest to the lady. Grateful, she ate the cakes, blew up the paper bag, hit it against a tree, and we were surrounded by an anti-terrorist squad.
The lady, a known, would-be terrorist, had been blowing up paper bags all over town, was arrested, and they were going to arrest me too since supplied the paper bag; I was a tourist, and the police, let me go with a warning.
Deep in the park, I found a cave walked in and saw baby Jesus inside a small aquarium; he appeared like a dead angel as painted by Caravaggio; Jesus opened his eyes, smiled like a street urchin selling himself to paederasts, and began masturbating, chocked I took a step back and collided with two nuns who laughed hysterically.
Escaped and found a cellar bar drank ouzo served by a woman who looked like a horse; she was
a pony that had escaped from a Swedish circus.
We hit it off. I have always been fond of horses since an Indian chief in Alice Walker’s poem. I have forgotten the title of, who says horses make the landscape more beautiful. Midnight, she shut her bar, and bareback, we rode through Athens mysterious night.