“He lunged at her, fangs exposed, and found himself sprawled on the pavement twenty feet away.
He heard his friends laughing from the balcony. His gaze went from them to the corner, but she’d vanished.
‘That wasn’t human. What was that?’
‘I believe that’s what humans call an angel,’ Randolph drawled.”
I take photos. I write. My volunteer job is taking photos of rescued dogs and cats transported by the rescue group whose records I manage. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.