Dusty stood alone, wondering if the man--the angel--would come tonight. Soft lights glowed in apartment buildings around her; the living, settling into comfortable chairs, eating late dinners, falling in love. She thought she had known love once--but it ended too quickly--like life itself often does.
Snow drifted, fell on sidewalks, swirled in the chilly early evening wind. Eyes shimmered within intricate flakes; spirits of those long dead. Feathery hands reached out to her. Phantom choruses serenaded. If she looked hard enough she could see them and their celestial cathedral--a gateway
between Heaven and Hell--a place she could not reach. They stood within gables, lined altars, knelt in pews--souls of both dark and light.
She was bound to the Earth. Dusty--little girl--little waif. A ghost--wearing a skimpy jacket, and
torn jeans. Dark hair hung in limp ringlets down her back, sleepy eyes stared at traffic easing by. She gazed at pedestrians, bundled from head to toe in winter garb. The living couldn't see her. They couldn't see any of the ghosts who haunted the city.