Three angels with crossed eyes flew toward each other.
They hit each other.
One fell, and landed on a cloud. The other two, dazed, were uncertain about who had hit whom. They recovered their wits, and said hello.
“Braiden! How are you?”
“Like a shotput Micah, how are you?”
“As the warts grow! Where is Ginesse?”
“Unconcious on the cloud, we’ll leave her.”
“Brilliant! She’ll be in Rio in no time!”
“What about the Pacific Ocean?”
“‘Tis a mere ditch!”
The two hovered for a moment, looking around them.
“Stars out tonight,” said Micah.
“There always are. You just can’t see them under the clouds.”
“But we’re always above the clouds, unless sent down.”
“Then the stars are always out!”
“Tell me, Braiden, has the army marched yet?”
“No, Micah, the big guy’s keeping them where they are. Not enough food yet. An army marches on its stomach, you know.”
“I thought they marched on feet.”
“As did I, but apparently the big guy wants them to be different. Angels and all. I don’t get it myself.”
“Huh. Do we still have orders to spy on Lisbon?”
“Are we at Lisbon yet?”
“I don’t know. Should we be?”
“Well, we should head there.”
“Maybe it’s down there?”
“Let’s go see!”
They flew down toward the lights, indicating a city. Joseph appeared, and muttered to himself, “There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.”