I know things I shouldn't know, sometimes. I know things that people don't want other people to know, that they don't tell anybody. Most of the time I can't say anything about it, or do anything about it, because I'm not supposed to know this stuff, and I can't account for how I know it anyway.

This is a really awkward subject. One of the reasons I don't usually talk about it is because it can make me sound like a raving lunatic.

I may be a lunatic, but I'm not a raving lunatic, okay? Trust me on this.

In today's edition of the Wayback Journal, I witness a pick-up on the subway. In my gut I know there's something really, really wrong with it, and it scares me badly. I wasn't just grossed out, I was frightened, and not for myself.

Now on the face of it, this is a no-brainer, the guy sounds like a nut-job. But how do you tell the difference between the harmless nut-jobs and the ones who are dangerous? And how do you know when a victim is really a victim?

Sometimes I know. And I can't say how.

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