“Well, I haven’t seen Jason or Cora in a coon’s age,” Angel Mel observes. “Whatever that means. The average raccoon lives, what, two years or so in the Earth dimension but in—”
“And nor have I.” Angel Rachel, used to his verbal wanderings, takes a taste of the lemon-lime gelato her fellow angel has kindly treated her to as they walk in the formal gardens behind his office. “Wonder where they could be? Better not have taken another ride on the Holy Rollercoaster. The consequences could be soul threatening.”
In the far corner of the park, an impromptu music session has started up. A tiny woman in a black dress begins to fill the air with a voice so unique, so filled with raw emotion that everyone stops what they are doing to listen. The chanteuse sings in her native French of a life lived
