I've been at this flat for a good two years or so now. It's one of those small, cozy little things that you read about in books, or see in movies, but never really think exist. I'm rather fond of this flat, though I don't believe the neighbors are very fond of me, since I tend to leave the music on rather loudly.

But honestly, how do you complain about such moving classicals as Franz Schuberts Ave Maria? Or The Sundays, I'm rather fond of the Sundays, as well.

That aside, there is one bit about this place that I don't particularly like. It seems that every magazine I've ordered, any packages I want, never come! I strongly believe that my mail man is taking my copies of Vouge and GM, but I can't seem to prove it. If I weren't an angel, he'd be in some very hot water.

And, no Gabriel, I had nothing to do with his tires exploding, it was purely coincidence that we were passing at that moment.

Note to self: Take Michael shopping for new clothes to update him on the last 1000 years of fashion developments. Must burn that Valhalla t-shirt, and introduce him to decent-fitting Jeans. Ask Gabriel if he wants to come along. Then check about jobs.

In the past, it had never been so hard to find a decent cup of tea.

What Raphael concidered "decent" wasn't what a normal person would concider decent. Not that Raphael was normal, by any means. Nor a person, for that matter. But whether he happened to be of a homosapien pursuation or not really had nothing to do with his taste in tea. It was more that he just happened to enjoy it sickeningly sweet, and perferably sickeningly sweet with a touch of lemon.

Raphael glanced down at his teacup. It was filled to the brim with a deep red liquid that smelled faintly of flowers. Outside the cafe's window, a young couple padded by, their hands hidden deep within the recesses of eachothers pockets. He smiled at them, though they couldn't see, and turned back to his book. It was one of Aziraphale's, though he knew the angel had been reluctant to part with it even briefly.

'Really, angel,' he thought fondly 'what time in the near future will you need to consult Dr. Briar's Book of Medieval Herbs and Remidies in a hurry?' He turned the page to a partiularly painful-looking illustration of the proper uses for lemonbalm and laughed. If he had been Down Here in the dark ages, it would have undoubtably been a more pleasent experience for all.

Giving up on the tea and book, Raphael gave into the urge to walk. Outside it was a balmy day, and he had seen a particularly intresting garden on his walk back from Soho last week. He packed away his things in the medium black bag he carried, and put on his hat. Down the street, the couple from before were leaning haphazardly against the brick wall of neighboring jewlrey shop. Raphael grinned.

Maybe there would be better tea the next time.