This is the story of a young man from a working-class family who sought different ways of expressing himself through art, the typical child who scribbles and draws in textbooks in an education that, like so many others, does not interest him at all.
It was introspection and the pleasure of painting that made him decide to study art, a degree that he did not even finish. But the dream was still there and life needed to be placated and tamed to make it a reality. It is at this point that the story of Francisco de Pájaro begins, a character marked by determination and who ended up falling off the cliff.
His story is that of someone humble and sincere who gives all his energy and perseverance to dedicate himself to what he is passionate about and to be recognised for it, a worthy representative of the working class and of the culture of effort that has been deceived and swindled so many times in the history of this country.
The bird crashed, ran headlong into his own desires in a world that played by totally different rules to his own, and was forced to emigrate, survive and eke out a meagre existence when the great economic fraud of 2008 took hold. Defeat and failure were undeniable. Life demanded death, survival demanded suicide. Francisco de Pájaro was buried somewhere between Zafra and Poblenou. All that remained were the spoils, the remains, the shreds, the trash. His own and that of society.