GUN CRAZY (Part Fifteen)

While they're waiting for me to meet them, the angels, they sometimes have a cocktail or two in this neighborhood watering hole, always refuse the little weenies on the sticks, rub up against the locals - watch the wings, fella - bullshit about football, watch their backs, always looking at the door for the tell-tale hitman halo, listen to sob stories, reel out a few of their own, toss peanuts into their mouths, never miss one, talk shop - yeah, the higher the hem the better off you'll be on those long flights - wonder about the future, always sweet to the waitress, yeah, yeah, lousy tippers, though, angels.

(what are those hitmen packing? what kind of bullet kills an angel?)