"Oh?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Surprises can be interesting. Although it might be a moot point now, as I am apparently - " He tried to remember, squinting at the ceiling. "Forty-two? Forty-three? Somewhere around there." He wondered if he would age. He'd never aged before.

Shrugging, he spreads his hands palms-up. "Something. More than this. Less fear, more living. Here, it's less disconcerting that there's not, I don't know, theaters and schools and things and more that everyone seems so uncertain. It's not right." He pushes his glass forward. "And I will if you don't mind. Your choice." Trusting Owen seemed to be working out fairly well for him.