This taverna has been closed for many years. Despite this, every evening the old men of the village congregate outside on chairs and benches. The context is no longer, but the ritual is stronger. The taverna’s closure was not acknowledged by the elders, as it was too hard to replace such a crucial and storied destination. At least, this was my theory. Then my friend Sotiris told me in his gentle way: “Typical bullshit theory! They get kicked out of the other tavernas. They have tried everywhere. They are bad for business! They sit for hours, they take up space, they drink, they don’t eat, and they are ugly old men. They are not poetic legacies. They are taverna closers!" I feel your pain, Margaret Mead.