God Bless the Night Angels
It’s a full moon and I’m too restless to sleep. By four, I’m out the door. It’s a
warm, muggy morning. An owl hoots and
there are some vague twitterings overhead.
At the corner a limo lies in wait.
The motor throbs softly. The
driver’s head lolls back against the headrest.
He’s waiting for his first pick-up of the day.
In the next block a patrol car glides silently down the
street. We share a nod and wave. Uptown a Gonnella truck careens around the
corner; a delivery to the local sandwich shop.
Along a dark street my paper girl wends her way. She started in April. Her first weeks were frantic. The car raced desperately up and down the
streets. Her spotlight blazed as she
struggled to uncover house numbers behind over-grown bushes. Now her route is a synchronized waltz. She
jettisons the papers from left to right.
We’ve had a chat. She
gets up at one to bundle her newspapers and load the car. After the route is complete, she heads
home. Maybe some breakfast and then summer
reading with her three children. Then a
short nap and she’s out the door to her second job at the doctor’s office.
God Bless the Night Angels.
