The stream of science-fiction sounding nonsense makes him want to laugh, but he manages to keep it contained. There's no reason why it can't all be true, it's not like he hasn't met weirder, more science-fictional things. To say nothing of an angel.

And then that unfriendly demand, out of left field. Johnny blinks at him. Jeez.

"Johnny Truant," he says slowly. "I'm nobody." He shifts his arms a little closer around Nova, tucking his knees up. "I worked in a tattoo parlor in Los Angeles. Then I fucked up my life and almost lost it. Now I'm here." He focuses on his shoe as he scrapes it gently over dried leaves. "Manhattan. When I'm awake. It's hard to explain if you haven't already come through."

There, is that satisfying? It's more than he'd ordinarily be willing to share, but not so much that he feels exposed yet.