Through the streets of southern Buenos Aires, destinations marked by popular beliefs but also absolved by friendly hugs and the most beautiful chirping of birds.
Maldiojo taught me to hunt sparrows, with an old fleece stocking discarded by his mother, who washed clothes at home to help the household economy.
We lived on Oruro street, at first a simple trace of a road used to carry blocks of garbage to the dumps for burning, a vast lot on Amancio Alcorta avenue, which was harassed for generations with tons of waste and which was a source of refuge for true gangs of thugs.
Listen to the complete column by Juan Ferrari, with text by Rodolfo Perri, on Radio Perfil FM 101.9.
