Posted as a contribution to Friday Fictioneers
Habit is a strange thing.
I wake early, make hot Arabic with frothy milk, and enjoy the moment of solitude as the day begins. I watch Georgios arrive in his dinghy, there is a soft murmur from the water as it nudges against the pier.
I collect a box of red mullet, sardines, a whole tuna, a case of shrimp and a parcel.
I pay cash in US dollars.
My modest fish restaurant is popular; my customers devour the infused saffron dishes.
They leave feeling euphoric and lifted from their earlier depressive thoughts and so willingly pay my exorbitant prices.