In the summer of 1980, I was (temporarily) a student at New York University. Between classes, I often sat on a bench in Washington Square Park, alternately studying and people watching. One day, I was approached by a clean-cut fellow who appeared to be in his mid-20's. Hovering a few feet behind him was a young woman of about the same age. She watched, smiling rather nervously, as the man started to talk.
He greeted me and said that they were members of an eclectic group of people who enjoyed music and art, were interested in social activism, and hoping to make new friends. He invited me to a potluck dinner the next weekend and gave me the address in Brooklyn. I thanked him and said I'd consider it; he and his companion then headed towards a bench where another student was sitting by herself. They started talking and, I assume, she was extended the same invitation.
I admit, I was curious. I was also a little concerned for my safety, but assumed everything would be fine, since serial killers don't travel in pairs, right?
|Good food, good music, good friends -- what could possibly go wrong?|