Watch out!

Hitchhiking had become easy for Ann. She realized this suddenly as she leaned off the curb on Gough Street, raised thumb out, on her way home from her morning attempt to sell her rings at Crocker Bank Plaza. Tourist season was over in San Francisco, so it had become a waste of time to even go the Wharf. The bank plaza had proved to be no better. In fact, it was worse. No tourists, of course. The potential customers were the downtown workers. They were not in the market for a ring hand-made by a girl sitting on the sidewalk. Even worse, today she had been vigorously pestered by a lecher. She did not need that kind of a day. She hoped for a good ride.

She had guidelines for hitchhiking. She never hitched at night, never got in if she was outnumbered, passed on any offer that raised even an unreasonable concern. She listened to her intuition. She believed in being careful.

The light turned red, and cars were stopping. She heard a window go down and looked for it. A young, clean-cut man was leaning forward, making eye contact. "Where are you headed?"

"The Richmond."

"I'm heading to the Sunset, but I could swing up that way."

She did not get a bad feeling, so she got in just as the light changed.

"Where in the Richmond?"

"Clement at 8th."

"Oh, I know Clement Street. Nice neighborhood. There's a great deli right around there. What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Almost noon."

"Nice watch."

"Thanks. Graduation gift from...I think he's my Dad's first cousin. Has a jewelry store."

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"No."

"Want to get sandwiches at that deli?"

He was nice, personable. She was striving to be less uptight about things, to "let it be," to "take it as it comes." The precaution about not talking to strangers is tough when you're new in town and everyone is a stranger. "Okay. Sure."

"I'm Tom."

"Ann."

They discussed the "nice day" on the ride.

He found a parking space a half block from the deli in one direction and a half block from her place in the other. She made sure to get in line before him so that he would not try to buy her sandwich. She ordered and paid while he was still deciding.

Right then she realized how awkward this had just become. What was she going to do? The deli did not have seating. Sit in his car and eat? Send him on his way with his sandwich?

He had paid for his sandwich and joined her as she exited.

"My place is just a block away. I guess we could eat there."

"Okay."

Her place was the floor above an off-sale liquor store. She unlocked the door and led him up the stairs. The landing at the top was a large circle with five doors. First door on the left was the kitchen. Third door was a bathroom. The other three doors were closed.

"Do you have roommates?"

"Yes." Ann gestured toward the second door. "That's George. He's a longshoreman, fifties, aspiring novelist, recovering alcoholic. Interesting guy. Kind of a Mickey Spillane character."

She led him into the kitchen, offered him a chair at the little table, and seated herself. As she unwrapped her sandwich, she continued. "Door number four is Zack, about my age, aspiring art photographer, works mornings in a camera store."

"And you?" He had unwrapped his sandwich and already had a pretty good start on it.

"Former high school English teacher trying to recover from a bad stomach ulcer. Former street artist. Recent meditator. Taking a break before I sign on to another stressful job. I tend to run in fourth gear."

She took a bite of her sandwich, and they ate in silence for a while. "What do you do?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the downstairs door. Ann popped up and went quickly down the stairs. She opened the door to a young man in a business suit.

"Hi. I'm Charles. Is Zack home?"

Zack had mentioned Charles. He was a college friend, fraternity brother, successful motivational speaker.

"No. Is he expecting you?"

"No. I was just in the neighborhood. When will he be home?"

"Could be any time. I don't really know his schedule. You want to come in and wait for him?"

He stepped in, and she led him up the stairs.

They entered the kitchen. Charles turned to Ann's guest with that look of assessment Ann had often observed in men when they meet. "Charles, this is Tom. We're just having lunch."

Charles' gaze became what Ann could only call "piercing." It was almost rude, she thought. She could see Tom becoming uncomfortable. He seemed to feel a need to justify himself. "She was hitchhiking. I gave her a ride."

The response from Charles was a sustained stare-down. Part of Ann wanted to say, "Lighten up, guys!" But...she really didn't care. Tom quickly finished his sandwich, said he had to be on his way, and headed down the stairs. They heard the door open and close.

Charles turned his attention to her. "You let a bad man into your home."

"What?"

"Yes. You must not be so trusting."

"Okay." Normally, she would combat some effort by anyone to scold her, but there was something about this guy that told her he might know what he was talking about. At any rate, this was Zack's friend, and she wasn't going to argue with good advice.

"I'm going to send you a book, and I want you to promise that you will read it."

"What book?"

"The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. Will you read it?"

"Okay."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes. Okay. I promise."

Charles stood up then.

"Aren't you going to wait for Zack?"

"No."

He left the kitchen and headed toward the stairs. He stopped and turned to her again. "And the hitchhiking. Get a car." He left Ann wondering what in the world had just happened.

She finished her sandwich, thinking about sharing this experience with Zack. Weird. She cleaned up, threw away the sandwich wrappers, cleared the crumbs from the table top. She was looking forward to her afternoon meditation. She lifted her arm to check the time. Her watch was gone.