Every night they sat huddled under the exquisite lamppost erected by the Turkish noble. They were a bunch of homeless vagabonds. The lamppost was a witness to imaginary tales, true adventures and some silly, inane anecdotes. On lucky days, they shared piping hot tea and leftover bread, handed over by some generous passerby.
Their bonhomie was infectious. Pedestrians stared at them, amused. They were a crazy, assorted bunch. They had no family to call their own, no roof above their heads, barely one square meal a day. But they believed they had the world.
They had each other.
Writing for our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. Gorgeous Photo prompt: Sandra Crook. Read some fantastic entries to this week’s Friday Fictioneers here.