Humans. They are so wrong about me.

What does that even mean, a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide?

And that's what is was, all cheekbones and gangly limbs.

I never got it quite right. The aging was the part I’ve found most difficult.

He was always... the handsome one. I was... the one with the books. And the shop. And... the lost sword. Well.

But... it is as it is, I guess. Like Shakespeare's said. Hell is empty and all the devils are here. Or demons. And the like.

*Clears his throat. Tries his voice at one of the more famous songs of Gershwin's 'An American In Paris'.*

The Bentley. Surely /someone/ has taken that off the streets by now?

Before the Holy Face of God, race is unimportant.

Well, I think that says more about you than it does about Him, child. Maybe it'll bring enlightenment to places you hadn't dreamed of before.

I was relating on the reputation that preceeds you. Though yours is anything but holy. x.com/eatthedepraved…

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

I should add 'Shakespear enthusiast' to my CV.

*The angel would've had a lot to say to the premature assignment of his youngest protégé, but recent events and his overall lax commitment to the 'upstairs' in the past have made him unusually taciturn.*