Archangel Metatron

Metatron sat in his perfect office, filling out some paperwork. Everything was always perfect for him. Not a single mistake, but still... This eternal ideal, this constant work for the good of the world, this routine... Why did it seem so unbearable to him? All his life he worked in the name of God, and now he seemed tired, but angels cannot get tired.
"I need some fresh air." with a heavy sigh these words flew from Metatron's lips as he put down his pen and with a snap of his fingers, found himself among the people in the form of the most ordinary mortal