We heard them before we saw them, but then the orange drew our eyes, moving through the city like a flick of flame. And then the buskers joined in the beat, and for the next minute or so, our little patch of the street caught fire, sending sound and joy and movement upwards into the sky, twirling and twisting above us.
And then, it was over. They moved on. So did we. But our night was a little richer, a little warmer, all the same.