When those working in the port heard that they were about to lose their jobs, they began to visit our house in the early hours of the morning, waiting patiently outside until my father left. At first, there were only four or five, but as news of the structural reforms spread, the crowds grew bigger. They stood in the courtyard until my father appeared at the door, then shouted at him, begging him to think twice: “Good morning, boss. You’re a good man, boss, don’t do it, don’t listen to them thieves.” “Is it about drinking, boss? Is it that? I can quit drinking tomorrow, if that’s the problem. Tomorrow I can quit drinking, and I can quit smoking too, if you want. Who has money for raki these days? I’ve cut so much, boss, really cut down, you know.” “I only have a couple of years until retirement, boss. Just two more years. I’ve worked in the port since I was thirteen.” “Boss, I never stole anything. You know, they say Gypsies steal everything. Maybe someone told you I stole from the warehouse. I’ve never stolen a penny, boss. I swear on my children’s heads, I’ve never stolen anything.” “Let me do my job. I like my job. It’s a hard job, but I like it. I know everyone in the port. The port is like my house. I sleep there, I eat there, I do everything at the port. When I go home, my children are sleeping.”