CarrollBlog 12.3

What the Dark-Eyed Angel Knows

by Eleanor Lerman

A man is begging on his knees in the subway. Six-thirty

in the morning and already we are being presented with

moral choices as we rocket along the old rails, through the

old tunnels between Queens and Manhattan. Soon angels

will come crashing through the ceiling, wailing in the voices

of the castrati: Won't you give this pauper bread or money?

And a monster hurricane is coming: we all heard about it

on the radio at dawn. By nightfall...