SAD MUG When angels rise, there is a concern with the watcher of loneliness who has tasted everything we would know. A state that yearns for companionship. After an endless winter frost, it lingers into a lonely, indescribable, lifeless cry of the night. All alone, wrapped in black nylon, shades of the moonbeam, between the curtains; elegy goes the night. But for those murmuring angels, Less than a chant: shorter than an echo. We find no place...