I am about to close my refrigerator after removing a package of meat when I hear my door lock turning and a crew of men, without so much as first knocking, walk in. They stride directly over to the refrigerator, tie rope around it, hoist it upon a dolly and ride it out the door. Who are these people and why are they taking my refrigerator when there is nothing wrong with it? They are making some kind of mistake. Stop, I cry. You are in the wrong apartment. Not one turns his head to look at me or to listen. At that moment, a second crew of three men, almost on the heels of the first, strides in and lifts up my television set between them and walks out with it. I scream for help. I pound their shoulders but get no response, as if they were made of wood. I scream and scream, and another crew is right behind the second, this time to remove my bed. I am going to be left with nothing, nothing. I am about to get on the phone to call the police when I notice that they have cut the wires and taken the phone with them.