You had been walking for over an hour along the road beside the railroad track. In a few minutes, you were to find yourself in the plush café and bookstore of the Benaki Museum – Pireos Street Annexe. But at this precise moment you were looking into her eyes. Only now do you realize that her name must have been Zoe. Zoe the naked life, the bare life, life reduced to animality. Not her sister Bios, the life of the community, of the polis, political life. You hadn’t then thought to ventriloquize Mladen Dolar’s A Voice and Nothing More and the passage on page 106, building on Agamben, about the voice as Zoe, which unlike the inscribed logos operates outside of the social. That said, you had, when you were there, in the underpass, facing those eyes, thought of Derrida naked before his cat. How many Zoes did you see while you were in Athens?