Fisherman? Or fisher of men?

One night this summer Randy went fishing. When he returned I could not believe the story that he told me. Very strange indeed. Here is his story:

On any given day you can find me at one of my fishing spots. On this particular day, I chose a river close by. When I fish, I draw close to God and am filled with peace. I use this time for prayer, usually intercessory prayer. I drove down to my spot, parked, passed a small building, crossed the railroad tracks and walked down a steep embankment. I had 2 hours to fish. The first hour and a half was filled with Hail Mary's for everyone. The last half hour was prayed fervently for, "1 fish please Holy Mother of God. Just one." When I had no luck hooking one, I headed back up the embankment, crossed the tracks, and leaning on the side of a small building was my fish. A man called out to me,  "Hey! Did you catch anything." I walked over and we started talking. His name was Gregory and he was homeless. I could sense his anxiety and fear and I believe he was mentally ill. He was paranoid and confused and started telling me about his life. He went on and on . He spoke about being separated from his family and friends because he did not " fit in". I asked if he believed in God, if he knew Jesus. He said that he did but did not know much about Him. I spoke about the Lord for a while. I told him if he trusted Jesus, that He would send Him a sign of reassurance. As we spoke, a big white Cadillac with silver trim pulled up to the dead end street, a large man stepped out, raised a trumpet to his lips and blasted out a beautiful tune. After finishing this one song, he jumped back into his car and drove away. I was, to say the least, flabbergasted at what I had just witnessed. It was like an episode out of the twilight zone. NaNaNaNaNaNa. When I asked Gregory if he had heard it, he said yeah that the trumpet player had been in the area. But then again he had named "others" that were in the area. Remember, I had been there for two hours and no one was to be seen. This is a deserted area . When I went home and told this story to Mary, she was amazed and thought it was bizarre.

Mary's note:
When Randy came home and told me about this I thought it was the oddest story I had ever heard. It was the trumpet player that threw me for a loop. I said to Randy,"Maybe you were entertaining an angel unawares." He said, " Trust me, Gregory was no angel!" When I mentioned what had happened to my mother she said, "That's interesting, we ask for St. Gregory's intercession before choir practice each week; he's the patron saint of music."
I still don't know what to make of this story. Why would somebody drive down a road, step out, play one song on a trumpet and then leave. Strange..... very strange.