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192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
Strolling along Chavango Street (later renamed Las Heras)—the last bar on the road was named The First Light because of that district's early rising habits—leaves an impression, proper at that, of clogged dead-end streets without people, and, finally, after the fatigue of walking, a human light in a store. Within the depths of the red cemetery of the North and the Penitentiary, a smashed-up suburb of low, unstuccoed buildings has materialized from the dust, infamously known as Tierra del Fuego. Rubble at its threshold, street corners of solitude or aggression, furtive men who call out to one another and name one another's character, who scatter suddenly in the lateral light of the alleys. The entire neighborhood was a final corner. Thugs on horseback, Mitre-styled brimmed hats over their eyes and in countrified bombachas [baggy pants], out of inertia or impulse, kept up a war of individual duels with the police.In short, the young Borges was a sort of wannabe. It is as if a young man, arriving in Chicago, should be drawn to idolize Al Capone, Frank Nitti, and their gang.