ABSTRACT
It was a warm summer day. I had gone running around Fox Hills Park in Culver City, a park favored by joggers. On this specific day I had decided to run with my shirt off. I had confidence in my physique and figured I might get some attention from the preponderance of beautiful women who jogged around the park on any given day. Well, to my chagrin my running was uneventful. At no point did any young woman evince any interest in me. Soon after, while walking toward home a car slowed as it passed me. Because this was Los Angeles, known for its drive-by shootings, I paid close attention to the car, whose driver seemed to be taking an interest in me. When it passed I breathed a sigh of relief. A couple of minutes later, though, it appeared as if the same car that had passed by me moments earlier had only gone around the block and was now again passing closely by me, only slowing down even more. This time, though, the window opened and the driver, a man, said in a softly measured voice, “Do you want a ride?”
