Lost time can be both satisfying and surprisingly flavorful, much like a perfectly boiled egg.

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Endless hours of boredom and solitude in a blue-walled room of a modest, sunlit apartment building in Toumba, Thessaloniki. A single cassette player, VHS tapes, and sheets of cardboard—the foundations of music, movies, and makeshift games. Imaginary friends, too; chief among them, E.T. the Extraterrestrial. With time, real friends entered the picture.

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From Chicago to Germany, Thessaloniki, Sarantaporo, Antiparos, Larissa, Athens. An existence woven between the art studios and dimly lit bars, repeating on a loop: late nights, music, abundant drinks, tables set for gatherings, and spontaneous dancing. Planned drinks or impromptu toasts. D.I.Y. grills and gourmet bites in rustic landscapes alongside late-night snacks on crumpled bed sheets.

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Metaphysical dreams so vivid they felt real. First encounters with UFOs at age seven; first brushes with love in the years that followed. And recurring encounters with both to this day.

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This book began in 2020, during the COVID lockdown. Out of boredom, I opened those countless boxes from Thessaloniki. Inside were empty, or nearly empty, diaries, analog photographs from family villages and vacations, a mountain of mini DV cassettes, scattered notes, and an abundance of free time. All these elements transformed the pleasure of boredom into this book, a tribute to that very sensation.

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"And we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves."

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— Pet Shop Boys, “Being Boring”