Angel's Inn

I was walking down this strange unfamiliar path the other day, through a lush green forest completely engulfed by an eerie white fog. Suddenly, as I rounded a bend in the thick vegetation, a very large and imposing Inn came into view.
The large Inn was built in old English Tudor style and seemingly out of place in the middle of what appeared to be endless thick woods. There was a sign over the door but it was covered in thick fog and I could not read what it said.
Upon entering the Inn, my ears were assaulted with extremely loud and guttural laughter, a wave of heat washed over me, a plethora of delicious smells assailed my nostrils, and the interior of the Inn was much larger than it appeared to be from the outside.
To my right a long bar stretched down into the smoke shrouded depths of the Inn and to my left scores of great wooden tables loaded down with food and drink were attended by hundreds of feasters and rowdy drinkers.
As I shouldered up to the long western style bar, the bartender approached me with a wide grin while assiduously wiping a glass mug with a well-worn cloth.
I noticed that most of the patrons at the bar and those sitting around the groaning tables were dressed in expensive three-piece suits all of a dark colored material. Further on down the row of tables I spotted guests dressed in less expensive attire, while in the hazy distance I could barely see people dressed in poor but simple clothing.
"What will it be?" the Innkeeper asked. The man bore a striking resemblance to the actor Charlton Heston.
After ordering a cold frosty mug of root beer, I settled down on a high comfortable stool to watch the patrons.
The heavy set people in the expensive suits were stuffing themselves with all manner of food and drink, talking in boisterous and loud tones, and the very sight of them made me feel ill and out of place. The people dressed in ordinary clothing were sitting quietly, sipping their coffee or tea and talking in low but audible tones.
Even before I finished my root beer I wanted to leave the place because of the disgusting manner in which the expensively dressed clients were acting.
However, just as I got up to leave, the bartender bent over and started talking to me.
"Wondering where you're at and who these people are?" he asked, not waiting for my reply. "See that really big fat guy over there lording it over the other Fat Cats, that's the top dog, Mr. Greed. The men next to him are Mr. Gluttony, Mr. Envy, Mr. Lust, Mr. Pride, and Mr. Hate. They are the most powerful people around because so many people listen to them and want to be just like them."
The bartender continued to point out other men and women in expensive suits giving them such names as Mr. Lust, Mrs. Sloth, Mr. Cheat, Mrs. Deceit and so forth, and the ugly list went on and on.
"Who are those people sitting in the distance?" I meekly asked.
"Oh, they are regular customers too," the bartender replied, "But not as well liked as the Fat Cats." He went on to name some of them with such names as Mr. Hope, Mr. Humility, Mr. Sympathy, Mrs. Charity, and so on and so forth. "Some people want to emulate them but not many."
"Now, way over in the far corner you see a guy dressed in rags and another one with a simple loin cloth," the bartender pointed out. "They are the two least liked people in the Inn. That's Mr. Faith and Mr. Forgiveness. Almost no one wants to associate themselves with Mr. Faith, and Mr. Forgiveness is practically never called upon."
Shocked, I stood and stammered, "What... is this place?"
With a smile the bartender replied, "This a transit station between heaven and hell my son. Those Fat Cats are fallen angels, the ones most popular and in the greatest demand on Earth, the others are the least popular Guardian Angels."
As I quickly ran from the terrifying Inn, I noticed the fog had cleared from the outside sign.
On it was written, "Angel's Gate," proprietor Mr. Moses.