There is an english synopsis already done:
Osvaldo (55) lives in his Falcon in Nuñez, just three blocks away from where he had a home, a wife, and a job.
Luis (32) doesn´t know how to drive. He has just bought a Falcon '68 model to live in it as Osvaldo has done for four years when he could no longer afford light, gas, and telephone bills.
As Osvaldo takes his novice under his wing, we experience the details of a novel form of subsistence and we witness the beginning of their friendship.
The film brings you time to think about what you are laughing at.
(Last sentence is mine)
Vida en Falcon by Jorge Gaggero
When I first came to Tampa Bay in March, 1988, I had a cheap apartment, $150 a month, target practice with roach spray, somebody torched the place. We had to move. I moved to another house owned by the slumlord. It was $55/week, a lot for somebody on minimum wage and working maybe 24 to 32 hours a week, temporary labor. Just before Christmas, I stayed there one week. There were the same bums gathered outside drinking beers and being a nuisance. On Dec 26, 1988, I moved out, put my stuff in a storage place at $40 a month off Gandy Boulevard, near the Gandy Bridge. I slept there in my 1980 Chevette for four months, until April, 1989. It was so peaceful, just the fishing people, the gentle waves, the pelicans. I saved $800 dollars, ate well, took showers sometimes at work, sometimes at a state park (cold!) and sometimes would pay $1.25 to go swimming at North Shore Pool, where there were hot showers!
I went to two drawing groups during that time, one on Saturdays in St Pete and one Wed eves at the Tampa Art Museum, plus listened to a progressive community radio station in Tampa, http://www.wmnf.org
I took off for drives whenever I felt like it. My little spot was always there waiting for me, by a small but beautiful tree near the water. I went to the Keys, slept in my car at Key West, travelled to the mountains to the north, slept in my car, really a continuation of the hiatus of the past year, from May, 1977, when I left Shreveport, my relatives, broke away after 5 years there of painful healing and stabilization, went on the road for eight months travelling America one more time, frequently sleeping in my car, with motel breaks every once in a while, stayed in a gospel rescue mission several months in Ft Worth, Texas, working as a laborer and enjoying the fabulous art museums in Ft Worth, saw a play about an officer who resigned his commission after refusing immoral orders, met a beautiful woman standing under Picasso's Don Quixote, we drank wine in the grass in the lovely Ft Worth parks,her friend's m other called me a bum, I was, I cried when I left for Phoenix, but was a survivor, went there for the winter of "87-'88, got a skid row room, a job in a lumberyard, would go down to Tuscon every Saturday morning. I slept over in my car every Sat night. I remember waking to a crisp chilly beautious morning watching an empty park with soccer goalposts. There was a surrealist film festival in Tuscon on Sat nites. I had a better room in a small motel after awhile in Phoenix, and with the spring, I split, sleeping in my car all over the west coast, visited the Berkely Zen Center several times, I'd drive out of town into the country to sleep then come back. Then cruised clear across and down to St Pete in March of "88, so when I had to move back out into the car, it was simply a continuation of the past year, except that I had nowhere else to go. Lonesome at times, yes, always, a feeling of seperateness, so finally in April, I got a room downtown near the first place, then another cheap room across the street and stayed there for the next several years while converting myself into a nurse. Now I have a house and a wonderful wife, and it is good to be home, yet I know I could be dispossessed once again, the street is always there, and the place where I slept in my car so long ago is still there as well. Sometimes I will go there to be in a pensive mood and recapture the deep feelings that need only a touch to be released and I know that the pain and the anger and the alienation and the despair that I lived through are still there as a part of this survivor, one who smiles and takes pleasure in this life, with no regrets, only ambitions for the dispossessed.
I went to two drawing groups during that time, one on Saturdays in St Pete and one Wed eves at the Tampa Art Museum, plus listened to a progressive community radio station in Tampa, http://www.wmnf.org
I took off for drives whenever I felt like it. My little spot was always there waiting for me, by a small but beautiful tree near the water. I went to the Keys, slept in my car at Key West, travelled to the mountains to the north, slept in my car, really a continuation of the hiatus of the past year, from May, 1977, when I left Shreveport, my relatives, broke away after 5 years there of painful healing and stabilization, went on the road for eight months travelling America one more time, frequently sleeping in my car, with motel breaks every once in a while, stayed in a gospel rescue mission several months in Ft Worth, Texas, working as a laborer and enjoying the fabulous art museums in Ft Worth, saw a play about an officer who resigned his commission after refusing immoral orders, met a beautiful woman standing under Picasso's Don Quixote, we drank wine in the grass in the lovely Ft Worth parks,her friend's m other called me a bum, I was, I cried when I left for Phoenix, but was a survivor, went there for the winter of "87-'88, got a skid row room, a job in a lumberyard, would go down to Tuscon every Saturday morning. I slept over in my car every Sat night. I remember waking to a crisp chilly beautious morning watching an empty park with soccer goalposts. There was a surrealist film festival in Tuscon on Sat nites. I had a better room in a small motel after awhile in Phoenix, and with the spring, I split, sleeping in my car all over the west coast, visited the Berkely Zen Center several times, I'd drive out of town into the country to sleep then come back. Then cruised clear across and down to St Pete in March of "88, so when I had to move back out into the car, it was simply a continuation of the past year, except that I had nowhere else to go. Lonesome at times, yes, always, a feeling of seperateness, so finally in April, I got a room downtown near the first place, then another cheap room across the street and stayed there for the next several years while converting myself into a nurse. Now I have a house and a wonderful wife, and it is good to be home, yet I know I could be dispossessed once again, the street is always there, and the place where I slept in my car so long ago is still there as well. Sometimes I will go there to be in a pensive mood and recapture the deep feelings that need only a touch to be released and I know that the pain and the anger and the alienation and the despair that I lived through are still there as a part of this survivor, one who smiles and takes pleasure in this life, with no regrets, only ambitions for the dispossessed.
[color=darkcyan]i'm on a survival mission
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
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[color=darkcyan]i'm on a survival mission
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
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