“The yellow one is your copy,” she said sweetly, folding the original and inserting it in the flap pocket of her left wing. “Enjoy, but don’t forget your part of the deal. You warrant that you will deposit cash only in the collection box of any denomination Christian Church or Jewish Synagogue 10% of any payments received by you, excluding, of course, your initial cash advance for startup costs. Further, you acknowledge that interest accrues on any portion of late payments at 18.7 % per month based upon an average daily balance which will be calculated for you by God. I know it sounds like usury, but that’s the prevailing credit-card rate. And He doesn’t like to take unfair advantage of His position vis a vis market conditions.” She hiked up her robes. “Say, I don’t suppose there’s any way I can get up to the roof is there? These fire escapes are okay to land on, but they’re a bitch for take offs.”

The man shook his head sadly. Then, he stood at the window and watched as the angel fell into a steep, graceless dive. At the last second she managed enough lift to clear the gravel and tar roof of the Midtown Deli; then she disappeared behind the blackened brick chimney over Mel’s Tailor Shop.

The next evening after dinner the man heard a knock at his door. When he opened it, he saw a Black woman tall enough to play power forward in the WBA. Her hair was in dreadlocks with red, white, and blue beads separating the strands. Her purple eye shadow matched her lipstick and nail polish. She wore no bra beneath the black, sleeveless tank top. Her black leather mini-skirt stopped at mid thigh. The tops of her black vinyl boots disappeared beneath the skirt. She smelled strongly of musk oil.

The man said, “Yes?”

She looked him up and down slowly. “In my business, Baby, that’s the good word. Now shift that out the interrogative mood, throw in some moanin’ and groanin,’ and you on your way to bein’ a writer for Shady Grove Press.”

The man was stunned. “So, you are….”

“I your Muse, Baby. I be here to aaaaaa-muse.” She burst into a wild raucous laugh that reminded him of a flock of crows.

He found her seductive but not what he had imagined. He wondered: What is God up to? He wanted time to reconsider what he was getting himself into. So, slowly the man began to ease the door closed. “You can’t come in right now. It’s not convenient. Uh . . . I’ve got a pot boiling on the stove,” he lied. “Come later.”