A fragile city. A Myrovlytis Saint. Her own. Watery and translucent images are born and die amid the narrow breath of the buildings.

On the beach, the lamp-posts - undetermined sentinels - watch over the flight of the seagulls as they illuminate the day with dreams. Nine stories, nine worlds, open their silence above the broad-leaved acacias of Egnatia street. And perhaps even further.

As an unseen visitor, you can gaze upon tormented, ordinary, wandering people, experiencing tender and sensitive stories beneath the damp shawl of the night.

And then you rejoice in the evangelism of uplift, as you have the feeling that you live to love people, with all their shrill silences, their full inner screams...