was. “What do you want? You know what time it is?” There before him was an addict, probably trying to sell him another trinket out of the trash that he didn’t need. “You know it’s two in the morning?” George asked the addict. “Your lights burning,” the addict said. “The lights on your car, Mr. G. I’m sorry, Mr. G., but your lights’re on in your car.” George thanked him. He rushed out to turn off the lights and promised himself he wouldn’t prejudge these people anymore. “I just thank the Lord,” he says, “that, by his grace, it’s not me.”
