ANGEL by Jay Duret • Cleaver Magazine
The man paused on the doorstep, huffed into his palm to check his breath, and then shook his jacket straight. Ignoring the bell to the side, he gave a stout knock. A girl opened the door. “Hello?” She had a wide, serious face and the kind of long straight hair that fell like a shower curtain “Hi,” he said brightly. “You’re Angel, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I have heard so much about you. I’m Chris. I’m picking up your mother.” “I know. She’s been getting ready for hours.” “May I come in?”