Up in the Mountains #46

We waved goodbye to Manolis before thumbing a lift in the back of an empty truck whose sole purpose was to lug rocks down from a quarry to the plain below. Dumped in the last village before the road ran out we stopped in the square for a coffee that cost less than the smallest coin of the realm.
The men sat in the shade of the olive tree standing outside the kafeneío, shuffling backgammon sipping ouzo or sludgy black coffee.
The ever present papás in his black kalimavkion chimneypot hat and sinister robes hovered around angling for a drink.