– “Enter boy, don’t worry. Get inside…” – “Thank you” – “Would you like something to drink?” – “No Sir, I ‘m fine. May I?” – “Certainly. Walk down the hall, make as many photos as you like. Just be careful. There are iron nails all over the place and, trust me, they can hurt a lot…”
Summer time in Chania, I am walking along the beautiful old harbor, called Arsenalia. Behind me lie a couple of fish taverns, on my left the sea, in front of me two almost identical, sizable gates. The right one seems crowded, leads into some sort of exhibition. Its main piece is a handmade replica triiris, as I hear people saying. I turn left. This gate leads to a pretty dark hall, despite the fact that it’s midday.
Lots of old stuff make company to the old man sitting in the corner.
He welcomes me. He points his finger at the other corner, across the gate. “This is where I sometimes sleep. Occasionally I cook in this kitchen. Small, but enough…
…All I can hear is these old stuff clanking, like talking to each other.
Piles of, seem to be, garbage but I have a feeling that they will end up useful somewhere, sometime.
I am heading back, I grab a chair and sit for a couple of minutes next to the old man.