The question of the gentleman who sat on the coffee table and stopped me demandingly as I passed by him was creepyly accurate. «Next year on this day, who will we have as prime minister, journalist?». Except me, forty years in the barbershop, I've studied these cute guys.
Unknown smart-ass, who in the style of a thousand cardinals stop you and ask you an alleged trick question (because they know or think they know what you think), so they want to impress their company by detaching you. «Lyberopoulos» I answered him and left to the bread stand.
Of course, he set me up on the way back. This place was too tight, I had no escape. «Who's Lyberopoulos, Thymius?» He asked me with the eyebrows mixed together. Well, if it isn't Thymius the cab driver, everybody knows him. «No, Panayiotis Lyberopoulos» I answered him, «Unless it's Bitter». That's where he got completely confused. «Bitter? What Bitter? What are you talking about? Who will be the Prime Minister tomorrow I asked you».
«So I answered you. I guess Lyberopoulos, but I don't rule out Bitter.». He looked at me stupidly. «What about the Holy Spirit?» He also remembered Panayiotis Bitter the Godless. The coffee shop's up to date, but I totally cut him off. «Nope. Michael Bitter».
The conversation became self-inflicted surreal, with the chieftain losing the congregation's primacy, as the rest of the pensioners of his company stopped dealing with him and turned to me, full of questions about the riddles I had thrown into the oven.
«Who are they?» There was an old man who chewed a plastic cookie from what the ovens buy along with Greek. He was left with a few crumbs along with the question. I finally answered. «The President of the Supreme Court and the President of the Council of State. Panagiotis Lyberopoulos and Michael Pikramenos.
Serious and educated people, fine to have them as service prime ministers for a couple of years, as long as there is an election and an election. Either one or the other. They'll make a nice cabinet with judges, technocrats and bankers, everything will go well by 2029-30.»
The retired, and most importantly the wise guy, were sharply muted under the weight of the transcendental scenario I revealed to them. «What are you talking about?» He finally decided to regain control of the conversation. «I am scolding you with the prevailing and most realistic scenario that exists, in the very possible case of no self-reliance. Which script you wish with your soul.
Isn't that why you stopped me? Are you telling me that Kyriakos is leaving because he doesn't want 70% of the world? So it's a deal to leave. But in his place, neither Samaras, nor Dendias, nor Tsipras, nor Androulakis, nor Velopoulos, nor Koutsubas, will come.
Neither the numbers make such a thing, nor is it prescribed constitutionally, nor does the person who gets 3% have the political and moral legitimacy to blackmail the man who gets 30% because he has something. Elections will take place and will be made again until a solution is found, with a service magistrate ruling us in the interim, in the process.
So for a couple of years, you'll be asking him for benefits, reinforcements, gas and oil passes. He will face Erdogan if anything happens to the nationals, he will manage two wars in our region, he will face some global bond crisis... everything will be fine. What's your problem? Since the three-blow will be gone...».
Well, I couldn't take it. Are they crazy? Trolling me.
