An Angel in Hell?

I apologize for failing to update this blog in a more timely fashion. I have just returned from Toronto and so much has happened, I don't know where to begin.

When my flight arrived at Pearson (and luckily, my travels did not include any nakedness while standing inside scary-looking, Homeland Security scanners, though I believe this is set to begin sometime during Mr. Harper's prorogue vacation), it was snowing. I had packed for the weather, so I donned my wool beret and an extra layer of fleece and took a cab to Ms. Winter's apartment building in the suburb of Scarborough.

On the cab ride there, I called Mandy on my cell phone. It was then that she said a most curious thing (paraphrased, of course): "Your timing couldn't be better. My boy, Samuel, came home just yesterday! He won't tell me anything about what happened to him over the last year and a half. He seems to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and who could blame him. The poor angel has been through hell."

Angel? Hell? If we were talking about the same person, I wouldn't call fame and fortune in the international fringe art world hell, nor would I call Hideki an angel at this point. If this really was him, just what crazy stories was he cooking up now? I was determined to get to the bottom of this.