I enter my new hotel room. The first feature that catches my attention is the lamp on the nightstand, its crimson base sculpted like a teardrop, a drop of blood. The lamp is the final insult: the ancient gods themselves must be mocking the miserable turn my vacation has taken.
“Fuck you, Zeus,” I whisper, defiant.
At least these housekeepers will have less to fuss over, no blankets thrown on the floor, no tangled bedsheets redolent with sweat and sex.
Mykonos is too wondrous for depression.
With a heavy sigh, I drop my suitcase and leave for Katerina’s gelato shop.