George the baker told me there wasn’t much for him at work this year. He’s a friendly and round man in his early forties, and proprietor of the island’s best olive oil rusks. They call them paximadia and they are legit remarkable. Instead, I often saw George riding around the town village on an old mountain bike. His thongs were about to fall off every time he threw his arm up at someone he recognised in the street. I got the feeling that George was the only man who owned a bike and he didn’t mind that.
Equipment: Nikon F4 / 28-105mm lens