They were an intuitive faction assisting citizens in dire straits.

They had this entertainment hub under artisan  numeric, mesmeric, hypnotic spellbinding plots.

One often wonders what this  enthused clique might embark on as an alternative for themselves and other outcasts if they hadn’t the urban lanternesque assembly  as ally in allegiance or they had become superfluous, a surplus without a functional yield.

Benign burst mantras were catapulted over these meticulously chosen sites before and after each conclave.

A shivery silken sign and sotto voce whirling whoosh cleansed the site of negative vibrations.

They slept during the day and left rusty tins and tarnished  buckets with signage confirming who they were.

Donations gradually growing into cosmic sums. The collections had a parallel himalayan mountain chain formation but in an odds on fashion never static inevitability.

“The old coins are beginning to form a solid silver stream of lucre.” Lambent the corny caper cracker.

“Wether its comedy,  music, cuisine, or the ventriloquist manipulating the puppet.

Bucks count.  Coins BUCK THE SYSTEM!!

Lumens as musician IN TUNE with the unfolding badinage or 

GOOD-INAGE. 

In that momentary flash Radiant and Lambent tossed coins frivolously in the air near a  gutter guard.

Their skills at a clean catch were disapproving frown wrinkle inept.

The coins wobbled and wibbled and vanished against a gulp  and gurgled water sound wolfing.

“Best of luck in finding those things tonight.” A cynical dishevelled stranger passerby spoke with a twang that tangibly croaked.

Something like later on was their shot at a muffled aside. 

The Minstrels dispersed swathes of their august balances which  were consummately prone to  disappear  as a result of  one cordial network or inspirational project after another.

It was often one of the above  marginal coteries whose members  savoured accidentally when  frozen to one spot as they had this chance encounter with the charitable troupers.

 It was the dislodged and displaced who found solace as the enigmatic ancient wanderer would momentarily when they  dwelt in caves.

The misfortunates would  jolt  people into a parallel fantasy domain that assuaged temporarily their dilemma.

Sometimes  as  a no fee concession when the bulk of their earnings came during the day when ironically they were in a  half doze.

The FOURSOME  often got their best WHIRRS-WIND ideas when snoozing as in the baker and his BAKERS DOZE-N.

“Each night a new chapter in this mini carnival for the hushful on the fringes.”

Lambent opined.

“You sometimes speak for the socially censored  by BREAKING THE SILENCE.”

Groan. 

One of the four had an additional skill, Lumens,  they were dab hand dexterous with metals.

They had this encyclopaedic know how that could so wow.

Where to get oils, sprays, lubricants in workshops and yards that were a squint on the map.

They had this habit of IRONING THINGS OUT.

Maybe IRONING THINGS IN might be a better way of putting it.

An ILL-“LUMENS”-ATING  sequence of groans.

This “SHORT STORY “ is dedicated to my  forever Beautiful, Brainy Einstein Sister

Jay A Pallen  who has made me see the  light and illuminated me with her eternal luminance.