He's been pretty sure he's seeing things all day, and that's normal, isn't it. When the small blue woman floats past him on wings, he watches her for a second or two, taking a nice slow drag on his cigarette before shuffling after her, following her.

An angel with wings made of water. That sounds like something someone would ask for in ink. Maybe on their back. Shoulder blades. Where people like to get wing art.

He'd never be able to draw something so lovely.

He stops a little beneath her, looking up.

"Are you real?" he asks softly.