A tale by Salvador Garmendia By that time, the photographers were wellknown, so they used to be barbers too. It was said that they could fly and maybe that was the reason no one saw them getting into the places. This was a little man, full of sounds, the clothes all covered with saints and hanging little mirrors,that made a happy noise when he walked. He looked like a skinny horse, the horse face and some long and yellowish teeths andthe hair that looked like syrup, long, yellowish, lying to the back. He armed his camera in the corridor and seemed more to a horse when he put the head and shoulders under the black rag. When he box opened by a side, you could look inside a black worm full of wrinkles. I, being just a boy, I was portrayed sitting on a cushion, rather kneeled, and with the hands together, praying, and my mom that was fat andfilled the whole sofa, she put a hand on my head and looked at me like if I really was a saint. I thought I was going to seem like Guido of Fong