A new-born sun, a dying sun. A new day in Gadani, Pakistan. 　　There, as if trapped in Dante’s purgatory, they break bread—those who, piece by piece, strip boats that are no longer of any use to us, boats that can no longer sail. 　　Without really knowing why, they await a signal, a response, a horizon to enable them to catch their dreams. Day by day, the children of the sun gaze up ...