Procuring an appointment with the Darkest Angel was no easy task. I’d probably walked past the place a thousand times, you too most likely. The smell of piss hung heavy in the alley. As I got closer I saw the neon sign blinking like a beacon over where the door stood. “Come to me.” it seemed to say, “You know you want to.” and I did, in fact I was early. His assistant, a tall androgynous being with the finest features silently led me to his office, opened the door and pointed to the chaise.
The furniture was luxurious, a large painting over his desk showed him in fairest youth being pushed from Heaven. I assumed it was a motivational device. He hardly acknowledged my presence, he was engrossed in an episode of Maury.
I began to introduce myself when he raised his hand to quiet me, never taking his eyes from the flat screen. "I'm not being rude, I love this part" he said in a voice like silk. I shut my mouth and watched him. Maury had the envelope in hand and upon opening revealed that 'You are NOT the father.’ He sat at the desk and spoke the words in unison with Maury. The father was neither gentleman on stage and the young woman sat astonished.
He smiled, “As much it delights me to know I have many children, it saddens me that they won't remember it was me."
"You have children?" I asked.
"Thousands over the years." "What, like Hitler, Stalin Jim Jones?"
He scoffed, "They weren't mine...but you-you however are.” He winked at me. I smiled back.