February 25, 2017:
I took the bus to Sounion with the Boy Most Likely to be Shot by Border Guards. He was unkempt, his hair was wild, he'd been drinking, and although he knew his Blue Guide seemingly cover to cover it was my girlfriend he wanted to talk about.
She was beautiful and charismatic and all the men stared at her, and the boys wanted to sit with her, and the Boy Most Likely to be Shot by Border Guards lived inside a mighty desire for her to which he freely and not not ungraphically gave voice. On this occasion as many others.
I found Lord Byron's legendary graffito almost immediately. The temple was white and the sea was blue and while the Boy Most Likely to be Shot by Border Guards dreamed of my girlfriend I dreamed of the lithe blonde dancer at home, and the brilliant brunette countrygirl, and the New York cutiepie, and how one or maybe all of them would save me, from my loneliness and hurt and malnutrition, most of all from myself, alone and confused and very far from home.