On the road consumed by wanderlust, vagabonding in pursuit of my shadows.
wandering, searching for a memory of Greece that's lost, but marching on Rome with my empty legions.

Continuing my solivagant that is as lonely as my hopes. No one with me but my monetary friends who are disloyal by nature. Armed only with my pen and notebook to sort through the blackness of my thoughts.

That bovine sexiness Fay my only companion, my battered camera my only witness to my downfall, demise, resurrection, and eventual uprising.

I carry on, with not enough coinage to pay for a sojourn in hell.

And yet we plod on with our wary feet, treading the dusty roads, we keep circling around, looking for, pursuing those asylums of sanity in Santorini.