In the heat of the early afternoon, when the sun is right above, where even the high-tech short-sleeve (cotton is the enemy) shirt my brother sent me from the US could not insulate me from, I stumbled upon the small shop of Mrs. Demetra, the one that sells Singing Birds.
Everything about the shop reflected decay, and the end of the era of a trade, replaced by the more "professional" Pet Stores, that sell accessories and animal feed along with puppies, throughout the city. Outside the shop, two gentlemen were seated, calm and relaxed, as if nothing was at stake in our collective lives, especially in this little corner of the world, talking about things, indifferent of my presence. When I asked their permission to photograph, since they would inevitably end up being in the picture, they laughed, as if I was joking, and responded that they do not think they are handsome enough to be photographed. I proceeded taking two shots, and thanked them for their tolerance.
During that time, hundreds of small or larger colorful birds of all breeds and kinds, exotic birds meant to be flying the Amazon skies or indigenous, forever Greek, birds that were born in a cage and know it as their natural habitat, chirp and sing, calling a mate, or celebrating life as they know it, life as they can only imagine it, outside the cage. A life that, chances are, they will never experience, but they will never cease to dream of, trapped for life. However, you and I can!