Vultures in Autumn

Vultures are boys and men who walk along the river promenade, offering their jackets or coats to girls who are cold.

It's common at the onset of the first cold to walk carelessly in short sleeves or even in tank tops.

We can see a vulture who focuses his attention; a girl walks briskly, somewhat hunched over and rubbing her arms.

The vulture approaches, his hands extended upwards, smiling, bowing his head, looking into her eyes. When the vulture gets the girl to accept his outerwear, he says goodbye like a gentleman. The girl puts on the jacket over her clothes and leaves under the vulture's gaze, who, despite having finished his mission, remains attentive. She lets her guard down and thinks of gentlemen from classic French cinema, of handsome men. Not all vultures are bad, she thinks.

When the girl gives in to the cold and fully puts on the jacket, sliding her arms into the sleeves, she realizes her mistake. The girl turns around in desperation, pleading with the vulture, but he slowly walks away from the place, as if in a procession. The girl resigns herself and lowers her head, then the jacket begins to move its sleeves vigorously, up and down, and rapidly taking off, flies beyond the promenade, with the girl inside.

Next to the river promenade, the tops of some pine trees watch the girl in the jacket soar through the sky; the pines follow her trajectory with their gaze as if they were sunflowers. Under the shade of these pines, there are many terraces; it's pleasant to have a drink after walking by the river. But in autumn it's not advisable, the wind makes the pines shiver and they throw needles. It's the way these trees warn of the danger of the vultures.

The terraces in the area usually serve coffee with sugar in a packet that says: The dessert doesn't let you see the dessert.