La Aristocracia Del Barrio

Between the bar and the bowling alley, they roam the sidewalk, splashing shoe polish and brillantine
With a jewel on their finger, hair cut with a razor, controlling the neighborhood from a corner.
Hear them whistle... they seem to be waiting for you, neighbor, to play a game of Chinese checkers. They are the aristocracy of the neighborhood. The best of each house, sunbathing in the square.

They have an elderly mother, a virgin sister, and one in Las Ramblas who knows the business. A father who died one day and the philosophy of the card table, the partner, and the point.
Watch him play... without blinking... Born a tough guy and hopeless. Asks for six and stands at two and a half. They are the aristocracy of the neighborhood. Gamblers, superstitious, talkative, and proud.

They deal in transistors, lighters, cosmetics, and costume jewelry until the singing of a partner closes their business for at least six months and a day. Just as they leave, they will reappear, looking like a dandy but with the color and scent of jail.
They are the aristocracy of the neighborhood. Independent turncoats improving on the present.

If you follow in their footsteps, you will see more than one case at the door of a police court, who, for a woman and a shorty, will give up even tobacco and delve into the demands of La Vanguardia. They will grow old baking bread. Everyone dies in their own way. And what can be done, there must be people for everything. And the aristocracy of the neighborhood, sentimental and kind, in the bar... they miss him.