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(music)
[Our story]
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"Soul of the eighties, I want to be with
you. I need you to come back."
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The history of a country is not only
a list of its presidents,
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nor the record of their most important
historical events.
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The story of a country also takes place
in the houses of each of us.
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It passes and stays in the memories of
the whole family.
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And that memory is weaving the fabric.
Out of each of those memories comes
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the thread of something immense that
forms the identity of a nation,
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made up of millions of lives.
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So, from time to time it is important
to stop, look back, and understand.
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To understand how we got here. How we are
all a product of what happened
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in our times. And of our decisions.
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I am fifty-three years old.
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My name is Francisco Robles, just like
my dad.
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"Paco", for those who have
known me forever.
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And today I feel the need to remember my
sixteenth year, in 1978.
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When I stopped being a child, and
transformed into a man
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that day by day made his story.
Our story.
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(sound of a horn)
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(background chatter)
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Good morning!
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Good morning.
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Ten tolete breads, please.
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Good morning.
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Morning.
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Good morning Fransisco.
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Hello Rose. How are you?
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Eighteen soles, young man.
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What, ten pieces of bread aren't
fifteen soles?
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Yesterday the unit only rose eighty,
Fransico.
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There's always a price raise.
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The regular?
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Yes.
(giggles)
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Fransico, what's up half-pint?
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(laughs)
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The next time you go out to buy bread,
come bathed and look nice
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so Veronica will think you're handsome.
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Why does it matter what I look like? We've
known each other since we were four.
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Bye!
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Bye.
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Not Synced
What are you going to buy, young man?
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Not Synced
Has the price of a roll also risen?
And the croissants?
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Not Synced
(motorcyle rumbles)
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Not Synced
(rock music)
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Not Synced
Has my dad left?
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Not Synced
He left early to go to the store.
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Not Synced
Your mom is
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