The hand on my hair moved to my back, and I realized someone was singing softly. The voice was familiar, and something about it made my chest ache. Well, that was to be expected. Angels' songs would be awfully poignant. "'I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you...'" the voice crooned. I frowned. Was that really an appropriate song for the Heavenly Host to be--
Her greatness lay in doing what everybody could do but doesn't. She was unexpected. She was untitled. (She was) an improbable warrior that was leading an unlikely army of waitresses and street sweepers and shopkeepers and auto mechanics.
Two become one when two are in love—or when the waitress asks about our dinner bill. I’ll pay next time, I promise.