George and I were sitting at the Raritan station, waiting for his train, and a man walked up to us. He asked us for a dollar, for a cigarette and bothered us with his life story about jail time, his second wife and his daughter. I told him we were runaways to New York when he asked where we were headed.

"Oh. Do you love each other?"
Yes. We nodded.
He sat next to me on the bench for a few minutes and babbled on about how New York isn't a safe place and to be careful if we were sure about going there. He stood up and shook our hands.
"Take care, George," he said.

The man stalked off to the store down the street and George asked me how he could have known his name. I answered that I didn't know, because I'd never said his name aloud.
I think he was an angel. Or so out of his mind that he has the purest thought and slipped an accidental truth from his mouth.