For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home.

Places where lonely people can live in exile of their own lives—far from anything that was ever imagined for them.

Athens has long been a place where lonely people go. A city doomed to forever impersonate itself, a city wrapped by cruel bands of road, where the thunder of traffic is a sound so constant it’s like silence. Those who live within the city itself live within a cloud of smoke and dust—for like the wild dogs who riddle the back streets with hanging mouths, the fumes linger, dispersed only for a moment by a breath of wind or the aromatic burst from a pot when the lid is raised.

Is your name Simon Van Booy?

Not really, it’s a pseudonym, like all names. “…If you knew my real name I would shrivel at once…”. Paul Claudel.


Is it true you suffer from anxiety?

Yes. When I was seven, I would wake to check my brother was still breathing. He was, thank God–though sometimes it’s hard to tell.