Where Angel Dared To Tread
What's one more Angel in heaven? Quite a handful, it seems.
The pearly gates need a damn good oil, that's for sure. They swing inward ahead of me, and the rending screech of grinding metal echoes across the sun-drenched cloud carpet beyond. Clanging to a halt at the extent of their swing, the disturbance rolls away to be replaced with, well, nothing. No harps or cherubs or singing choirs. Nothing. I’m alone. Utterly alone. Ripped leather jacket, skirt and a low-cut beaten top comp...