A few days ago I gave a ride to a hitchhiker. It was 40 degrees and raining, and he looked OK. And had an umbrella. He was headed to New London from Groton, so I was able to at least get him over the river.
Curiously, thinking of the "serial killer" angle, I never took a good look at him. Round-faced, darkish skin was the impression I got; but I couldn't tell you if he was black or Hispanic, or white and tanned, for that matter. I guess I should re-read my "Hardy Boys Detective Handbook" on how to be observant.
Sue goes ballistic if I say I picked up a hitcher, but at some point being paranoid has to defer to being human.
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