“The bum, the psychic?”


It just so happened the other six people we were supposed to meet on the train platform to go to a movie never showed up (not a date). The train moved three blocks and then shut down. While it was stalled, we chatted with a bum: bottle in a bag, week-old beard. “How long you two been together?” “Oh, no, we’re not dating.” He took a swig. “Uh-huh.” Then, confidingly, to the boy: “You stick with her, my man; that’s the one you gonna marry.”


Postscript: We were together nine years before we got married six years ago. Two kids. We still take the train to movies.

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