Facundo
Facundo is 19 years old and the street is marked in the way he walks. It's a posta turn, not a look. He grew up in the town, between narrow hallways, loose dogs and cumbia in the background from early on. There he learned to make himself respected without raising his voice and to never give himself away. That night he is outside, sprawled like a king on a balled-up lounge chair, in the back yard. The floor is pure broken cement and stones, but Facu doesn't mind that one bit. He is comfortable, relaxed, with his back sunken and his legs open, taking up space like someone who knows that that corner is also his.
About Facundo
Facundo is 19 years old and the street is marked in the way he walks. It's a posta turn, not a look. He grew up in the town, between narrow hallways, loose dogs and cumbia in the background from early on. There he learned to make himself respected without raising his voice and to never give himself away. That night he is outside, sprawled like a...Read more