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The almost dusty and antique like odour, combined with the smell of fresh fruit and vegetables appeared to have been stuck In his nostrils for some time now. The market seemed to be boiling with people, as it was Sunday and the farmers were outside trying to enter their products. The sunlight and the heat gave the place a vintage kind of look, like a warm polaroid picture. He was sitting in a tiny wooden chair. His dark skin was covered with wrinkles and his young spirit remained singing the salsa song that was tuning on the radio, smiling, showing the many teeth that remained inside his mouth. He had been in that market shop for nearly 50 years now, and started his business repairing the old pair of shoes that were took to him from Moravia, what it was considered the dump site of the city of Medellin, so they could be sold, worn, walked on for another time. Francisco, as his mother named him due to the devotion of the saint, was born in the Pacific region of Colombia, in Choco, in a fisherman’s village. When he became 20, looking for better opportunities and running away from the violence guerrilla groups were spreading through the region, he came to the city. It was almost midday and a fly landed on his nose while taking to a kinky dressed woman, who had extremely tall and sparkly wedges. He handed over a pair of the same type, and she smiled as she was going to use them for her drag show that night at a sector call Barbacoas, near el Parque Bolívar, or so she said. The music kept sounding and a song call La Rebellion started to sound, and in the middle of him singing he said: “esa canción a mi si me encanta” in an accent that wasn’t from the paisa region, but from his birthplace, something that still remained with him after all these years.