He remembered that it would have been around this time of year because everyone was well wrapped up. Diogo and António were driving the motorcycles that were parked in the foreground in the photo. Beyond them, four young men walked with their backs to the camera, two of them still with their helmets on. They were going down an earthy path lined with bushes that the wind had bent. In the background one could see the beach with the surf printed in white foam, the hypnotic scintillation of the water surface printed in drops of light. Despite having their backs to the camera, it was clear from their body language that they were excited to talk. Diogo was shaking something off his legs, perhaps a few too many grains of dust. Leonardo leading the group, António and Pedro walking side by side, the two sharing that empathy of kindred spirits, the same rhetoric, the same interest in photography, a closeness that seemed enviable to him, something of the type that he thought he had Diogo now. The four of them were heading towards a bar located a little further down the cliff. They had breakfast on the terrace surrounded by blue, they talked for a while. Leonardo tried to remember what the conversations were like between them, but the thought stuck in the visual memory of the black and white image, in what resonated in the contours of the photograph - the spirit of the moment, a taste of freedom in that fresh morning air - Still we're in time - was a thought that occurred to him.
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