I saw a “cannibal” the other day, walking down Skoufa St. with a nonchalant air.

A gentleman “of a certain age”, with success and power evident on his crispy shirt with his monogram and his assiduously dishevelled grey hair, appeared to be showing off to a thirty-year-old woman, staring at him in admiration. Heading towards a well-known café, filled with all the chic middle-aged gentlemen who believe that they are still rebellious youths and free spirits only when it doesn’t come to money, business or...