I reach into the depths of my backpack and become engulfed by a sense of relief when I feel the sharp metal object. I begin to pull it out, or at least try to. The key gets tangled in the pages and pages of Greek grammar notes shoved into my backpack. It’s been two months and I still don’t know how to conjugate the verb “ειμαι.” The key finally makes its way up into the fresh air of Pangrati. As the cool key hits my sweaty hand, I realize that I cut my index finger…