The Authenticity Experiment, the unexpected angels edition. I hate the idea of angels. Really. Those damn cherubs painted by Raphael that hung in every 1980s house, regardless of whether the owner had been to Dresden (where the angels were relocated in 1754) to see them in person. But the thing is, I think that angels—or, rather, guides, as I like to think of them—exist. I’ve seen evidence time and again in my life—turn here, talk to this person, hand this woman your book, call this person now, tell that girl you love her. So, well. Judge me. It’s new age-y or whatever. But I believe unseen forces are out there helping us. Helping me. Just like at the beginning of this month, on the second night I was in Todos Santos, BCS, Mexico.