The old man in the cap rises, places a pint of beer on his head and does Zorba's Dance, without spilling a drop.
Afterwards he grins and asks, in broken English, if we have enjoyed our stay. He pulls up a chair and pours ouzo into small glasses of crushed ice. His “Yammas!” the toast.
He uses the paper tablecloth to write out the bill and gives another two toothed grin. The smell of ouzo and laughter mingles with the sound of each breaking wave.
fish supper
fresh from the grill
a mackerel sky
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