Thousand: Two Hundred Twenty-One

up short of heaven, and the toe of an angel jabs him in the eye. Ms L’s third form steps out, followed by her second form. The angel, leaning from a mattress of unknowing cloud, nibbles on Samuel’s ear, the one that seems most relevant at the moment. Three emergency medical technicians are smoking in the penthouse foyer and chatting about seraphim classes. The prettiest looks Samuel over as, distracted by the nudging of the angel, he bumps a potted fern. “I don’t know,” the EMT says, “if another certification is absolutely necessary. The daylight model is a frame around