The Pearly King 3

"Perhaps he was dangerous, aggressive, but he was certainly not capable of murder, no, he'd rant and rave, perhaps, but could probably be cooled off with the offer of a drink. That was the beauty of him.
I think I'd seen a glimpse of him before, the shadow or the hint of him, in the dank, rain-wet main street, or up a side-alley, lingering near the entrance to the flea-market, glowering at passers-by. He was exactly the kind of old fool who'd take to haranguing the public in semi-coherent rants, exhorting them to love Jesus, buy some product, or merely exorcising his own demons at them.
His grey hair, his mouth loose and watery, either pursed in rage or formed into an unstable smile, begging or selling, cursing or blessing, rage or sadness in his eyes.
He'd at times be accompanied by a mystery female, equally amorphous and wearied, as full of grimness and ambiguity, bleary-eyed and grey-haired in like measure... Till they seemed to be one! Twins merged into one disreputable hobo, one performing saint, descended solidly from aeons of magicians and tramps, shamans and fools!
The tramp does tricks! And has potions for sale, and smiles to his own secrets. A bum to perform benign hexes, a gypsy bedecked in mirrors, singing the ancient songs that the soothsayers sang, handing out significant scraps of paper, scrawled with the secrets of the earth. A harmless eccentric, the authorities say!
He'd fit in at the fair, being the carnival king, the sideshow attraction. His face lit by lurid carousel lights, his sayings submerged under the klaxons and pop songs. Handing out incomprehensible leaflets, promising heaven on Earth in new and incorruptible forms. His eyes, full of a secret omniscience, in his dark face. He's the keeper of the freakshow, silent parter of the curtain in the chamber of horrors, he opens his shirt to reveal the Book of Revelation, tattooed earnestly in severe scarlet.
He walks moaning on overcast days, carrying a placard that insists upon the destruction of the world. He'll put on a sandwich board, pin scripture to his arms and hat, if it means redemption, or even to announce a new sale of dark merchandise. You've seen street performers, preachers, soapbox politicians? He seemed to be all of them in one! Morris dancers, tied with hankies, clicking sticks? Mystery dervishes that appear in streets, dragon-dancers that leap around in heavy costume?
The one-man-band, shiny reflective surfaces pinned to every inch, blazing colours, face coarse and restless, banging drum, clashing cymbal, blowing horn? Or, at last, the Pearly King, emblazoned in a thousand shiny buttons, casting refractions and shadows everywhere, from his shoes to his cap, his fat belly, his mouth shouting, raucous and heartfelt, an outmoded tune!?"