I hadn’t really thought about angels since I was a kid. I mean, last I remember talking about them was when I asked my dad if angels were real while he was tucking me in. He responded in the typical fashion; he turned out the light and shut my bedroom door without saying a word.
Anyway, this morning I was heading to work and hauling ass down a busy street when I saw one. She was about five years old and I’m sure her wings were constructed of polyester feathers and hot glue, but as she stood red-faced and screaming, “Take me back home!” I realized that angels were not only real, but pissed to be here like the rest of us.