Recalling the "Loco Fang" by Vonnegut. or And I think all who have lived in poor neighborhoods, learn about some street character that haunted their lives and homes. A man who lives near the neighborhood, which is hosted in the roof or front yards of neighbors and ask for a coin for a loaf of bread to anyone who crosses it. These individuals are characteristic, because eventually the neighbors let them feel for fear or rejection, and become members of the block or neighborhood who care carts, clean walls or pull away for a few coins.
I was not the exception, but unlike the residents to leave out the gruesome aspect of this particular subject walking, with no family or past, to speak kindly, always felt they fear. The reason: When a child is "crazy" as we called it in my childhood to the street urchins, was the man who would pick us up and throw in his stinking sack, if we do not eat food or if we made a Pilatuña.
In the neighborhood of my grandparents, where I lived for many years, was "crazy" that plagued my life during childhood. Itinerant souls who settled near the old building and tormented my dinner when I served cabbage or squash soup. One of them was the Crazy Fang and remembered only until recently, when I saw a picture of a writer who bore a striking resemblance to him.
This gentleman and Loco Fang are just like
I remember the Loco Fang. A tall, thin man who roamed the streets of downtown Bogota, with a huge sack full of all things that was, the Loco garbage digging, and, in fact, watched cars. He was seen constantly walking aimlessly up and down and talking to himself. I guess that smelled boxer or consumed any hallucinogenic substance. The Loco Fang was a disastrous-looking man had no teeth, just a canine who posed alone in his lucid gum. He was always in rags and his hair was kind of curly tangle with some tangles like a rasta, where, I believe lived in all kinds of lice and crabs. As all the crazy neighborhood, he smiled the whole-hearted soul to give him some food or coins, looked after the cars of the guys who visited my grandparents and collected cartons and bottles found in trash bags. The problem of Loco Fang, was the fear he instilled us Camilo grandfather, a grumpy old man who could not stand us talking at the table, and hated to see that bad habits, his many grandchildren did not eat any lunch. Camilo grandfather always told us not to eat or behave badly, would advise the Loco to happen for us and lead us in the smelly sack to his fate. Leaving food on your plate, would be destined to live in the swarm of sisal that the man was carrying a tusk in the back, and suffer the fate of several children that picky, ended in their networks.
Before this final decision in the afternoon of games, my cousins \u200b\u200band I approached the window to see the crazy ride that. Imagine the poor children ingeniábamos disgraced and how to avoid the foods that we did not like the grandfather Camilo without knowing it. Sometimes when we arrived at the building, approached Loco y saludaba a nuestros progenitores con una amable sonrisa, enseñando su solitario colmillo, amarillento y sarroso, y pedía una moneda. De inmediato, nos escondíamos detrás de las piernas de mamá, papá o quien estuviera cerca, aterrorizados por el encuentro cercano con el particular habitante de la cuadra. Gracias al simpático loco, los carros estuvieron seguros en el vecindario, disminuyó el robo de espejos, radios y rines en las constantes visitas que recibían mis abuelos. Ya todos sabían, que estaban a salvo mientras se le dieran al maloliente Loco unos cuantos centavitos.
Unos años más adelante, cuando yo tenía unos ocho años, I knew the Crazy Fang stabbing died overnight in a street near the building of my grandparents. Nothing was heard, nobody saw anything, nobody offered him assistance, as only a rumor in the neighborhood. He died in the gray streets of downtown, a night in Bogota only hear the noise of barking dogs and the life of a gamin a few matters. My grandparents and neighbors were not surprised with the sound and obvious lack corroborating what was said, was the fate of one of those guys who roam the streets left and right. My cousins \u200b\u200band I rested in knowing that we could leave the vegetable soup. "At least, we would no longer carried on the tattered bag for years frightened our dinner the Loco Fang and my grandfather would have to invent another story. Surprised nobody except the owners of the cars that now suffer from the artifacts of their vehicles.
Years later, I went back to live in the house of my childhood, no longer the company matriarchal grandfather and my grandmother, the gentle old lady in a good mood that I never threatened to take the sack of Loco . Was there a few years ago I came across a writer with whom I immersed myself in his interesting lyrics and became one of my favorites: Kurt Vonnegut. I was surprised when gogleé their name to learn more about this genius, and to see a picture of him on Wikipedia, then I remembered that Fang Loco who lived in this neighborhood years ago. Vonnegut died recently, when he slipped on the floor of his apartment in Manhattan, at least not as tragic as Loco and legacy to remember. I did not think they were so similar and so different that two individuals share an almost equal physiognomy. I know there are very intelligent and educated men, true lights that bad decisions have left behind a life full of success, to become lonely souls devoid of affection. I do not know if maybe it was the case of Fang Loco (Because at least Vonnegut had some luck) just know that at least resembles the famous writer gringo, which unlike Loco, brightens up my free time, as I read since then, its unique satire.
Peace in his grave, for Loco Fang. Peace in his grave for Mr. Vonnegut.
