Lindsey played the guitar like he had never lost his hand, never worn an expensive suit and defended the worst of the worst, never chosen to work for all that was evil. On stage, he was just a man lost in his music.

Angel didn't want to be him, didn't really understand him, but he did feel the sharp sting of envy as he watched him sing. Lindsey could slough off his skin and pick up a guitar or a sledgehammer as easily as his briefcase, but Angel, no matter how hard he tried, was never able to escape himself.

~end~