Over the weekend the vultures got into the presidential palace by pecking through the screens on the balcony windows and the flapping of their wings stirred up the stagnant time inside, and at dawn on Monday the city awoke out of its lethargy of centuries with the warm, soft breeze of a great man dead and rotting grandeur.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez in The Autumn of the Patriarch (1975), translated by Gregory Rabassa
Added by Dan Costinaş
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