For the first time since I have know Angel I saw what in others would be the open mouth of a puking ayahuasca user vomiting, but that on Angel was a genuine smile. Yes, he was happy in a real way, and I rose to the occasion and was friendly. He held up the envelope and showed me the whole thing as if it had been hand delivered to him by God. He looked away and smoothed out some of the wrinkles, and then he carefully extracted the white sheet therein, holding it in one hand life like the Statue of Liberty cradling her book as she looks out over the land of the free beyond New York Harbour. Angle was clearly pleased and happy. “Read this,” he said politely, though in a tinny voice that begged for a sharp slap across his sour looking face. And I read it. I was astounded.
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