Third Angel

Doug feels best at 3:00 a.m.a time of uncertainty, a time of transition. The old day is dead, and the new one only a promise. Most people sleep. Doug sits in a worn and salty leather chair, looking at shimmering city light reflected from Elliot Bay, the Seattle waterfront. On good nights, he describes himself as a confirmed agnostic. On bad ones, you get nothing at all. The owner of a late night bistro, Doug is selectively gregarious, a well-liked host to a Bohemian clientele. He looks like...