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Of Angels

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Of Angels

“Music is the language of angels, don’t ya know.” Her smile was like sunlight filtering through the London fog. “Ya don’t think pitiful people like us, left to ourselves, could come up with such heavenly noise, do ya?”

He sent her back a soft smile of his own, the kind she said always seemed to be happy and sad at the same time.

“Dvorak, Donna Summer. It’s all the same. It moves us. Transports us to a different place.” She closed her eyes and swayed her arms rhythmically from side to side, letting her sturdy hands float on currents of air. Soon her whole body was undulating accelerando. Graceful and hypnotic as a fish cutting through water.

All at once the words that she had been mouthing in time to the music burst forth, showering their energy over him like a waterfall. Immersing him from the top of his thinning hair to the bottoms of his well-worn shoes. She grabbed for his hands and he found himself spinning, spinning. Lifting off the ground and leaving the earth below.

He felt a laugh begin from somewhere in his throat. It tickled and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold onto it much longer.

The language of angels, she’d said. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who mingled with spirits.