Mangy, muttering guy in filthy watch cap juggling pins beside a bicycle that looked like it was about to be carried aloft by a cluster of balloons, if you replaced the balloons & string with duct tape and bulging grayish-black Hefty bags. He was using actual, honest to God juggling pins, dingy white with jaunty red stripes around the neck like ducks. They didn't fit his mise, and were I a braver man I'd have asked for the story behind them.
Passed another urban camper sitting on a bench with his giant mountaineer backpack next to him, part art installation, part dumpster raid jackpot. Laid across his lap was a battered artificial leg, jerking and rattling as he scratched away at his stump.
Later, just shy of the shop a flock of young girls fluttering pink and white and shouting for joy buffeted past, in the throes of an ecstatic footrace to the frozen yogurt shop. They whirled and swerved like the clouds of pigeons diving and wheeling off the roof of the old folks welfare hotel across the street, every bit as lovely and unknowable, eyes equally opaque.
fixed formatting- dum blogger. >:/