The Cool Kids on the Streets
Polaroid, Afternoons on Patission

The Patission Street in Athens is full of life and stories. Stories of fulfilled and unfulfilled dreams of the people who are at home here. Kostis Papaioannou tracks these stories down and captures them like a Polaroid of the moment.

By Kostis Papaioannou

In the afternoons the street fills up with kids. Girls and boys, young and old, teenagers who are still going to school or have finished it already, kids who are studying or not studying, hanging out, working, or looking for a job.

Time passes, the shops close, people with masks, tired people with disposable masks, waiting for trolleys and buses at the stops. The kids are out there among them down on Patission Street. Girls get on the buses, leaving their scent behind them at the bus stop. Leant up against a pole, the boys smoke and eye the girls. Couples from the Balkan and sub-Saharan countries are out walking in the Alsos park, three Poles drinking beer in the park on Kiprou Street, casual, Patission beers. The sun sinks deep into the windows above them.

A girl in grey jogging trousers and trainers is typing a message with a cheeky smile on her face while she is waiting for her dog to finish peeing on the tree. A group outside the Pakistani barber shop is perched on crates. Errand boys are making food deliveries. Middle-aged people are walking home with plastic bags full of bread, fruit, milk, or with meat skewers from the snack bar, doner kebab, or souvlakia.

“Take care of yourself, whichever road you take”

A few boys cross the street, laughing loudly, shouting out “dickhead”, and jostling each other with boisterous vigour. A girl working part-time at the supermarket Vassilopoulos walks down Fokionos Street feeling frisky. And on the other side of the street, other kids come with their basketball, bouncing it with a thump on the tarmac. And one of them has a word with the two girls sitting on the steps on Lelas Karagianni Street. They’re looking for a job, it’s exhausting. “University - technical college - vocational school graduates with previous experience in sales, team-spirited, methodical, goal-oriented, first-class communication and organisational skills, excellent computer skills, very good English”.

Big kids, young adults: They work in offices, shops, warehouses, call centres, secretarial offices in tutoring schools, and cheap clothing stores. At Marks and Spencer and Zara, with cell phone providers and with courier services. They move from one job with low payment and nice names to the next: customer assistants, call centre agents, sales representatives and account managers. From job to job, a little bit of unemployment, a lot of unemployment, part-time work, flexible employment, a few hours, a few days, no days at all. In the arcade, two girls are smoking at the door of the copy shop. One of them holds out her hand so her friend can see her painted nails. Two tots are skateboarding down the street that runs off perpendicular towards Acharnon Street, while the smell of a joint comes from the mezzanine floor. And further on, three young African girls are standing with their backs to a wall. The tall one with the dreadlocks is singing a hit song: “Take care of yourself, whichever road you take, don’t forget to send me something when you get there.” The other two sway around beside her.

And beyond Agiou Meletiou Street, where Patission narrows, three more girls are walking along. They stop, then carry on walking. They’re talking about boys. You can see that right away. They’re all dressed up, as if they haven’t been out since March. It’s different now. Going out means going out even more.

“The new young Athenians”

They make dates to meet in parks, cafes and on squares. They do courses at NKUA’s School of Philosophy or study at Panteion University, they’re at vocational school training to be cosmeticians or chefs, they want to become graphic designers or programmers or baristas. They want to finish their English qualifications and get computer certified in case a job opening is advertised. One girl used to work in a law firm, but she couldn’t bear the lawyer standing behind her all the time. And all the girls have stories like this to tell. So now they’re standing there with coffees from Everest or Coffeeway.

One of the girls plays music, lives with her boyfriend, wants to break up with him, but keeps putting it off because of money. Another still lives with her mum and dad, in a penthouse on the corner of Pipinou. The third one lives with her grandmother lower down at the end of Aristoteles Street. Some boys hang out at the kiosk on Koliatsou Square where their best friend works. He is back now and staying with his folks, the only one of the gang who had ever rented a flat of his own.

On the Drakopoulos estate, children speak one or two or maybe five languages: Everyone speaks their own tongue, but when they are all together they only communicate in Greek. The new young Athenians: They laugh and sweat and curse and pound the ball. And the two girls on the bench say nothing, one is surfing on her mobile and the other has zoned out as she watches the cars go by. She is wearing a white coat, having just finished her shift at Pammakaristos Hospital.

Her friend is sad. It’s the same old story: “Reliable partner in Thessaloniki is looking for a young Greek woman, to be deployed anywhere in Greece. The young girl should have an appearance appropriate to her partner and present herself to the company's customers as elegant and not extreme.” When she reads this kind of thing, her face darkens. And then the sad girl leans over and says something into her friend’s ear. And they both burst out laughing and hug each other and keep on hugging.

The kids on Patission Street looked even more beautiful when they came out of quarantine. I walk along invisible, imagining their stories, like a Polaroid of the moment.


The original version of this article was published online in Greek on 20.05.2020 in Lifo Magazine.