Priorities, Priorities

My friend and I, both in our early twenties and from the rural countryside, have decided to visit London. We’re walking down a residential road past a community centre around 1:00 pm, thinking about food, when a tall man who is at least twice our age appears and speaks with an accent I don’t recognize.

Man: “We’re having a barbecue! Do you want to have some?”

My friend and I look at each other and exchange some non-verbal communication.

Me: *To the man* “Yeah, all right!”

Man: “Fantastic! Follow me!”

We follow the man down an overgrown side road, round some twisty corners, and through a tunnel.

Friend: *Casually to me* “This would be a really good place to murder someone.”

Me: *Giving her a side-eye* “Why do you say that? Now I’m wondering whether there is food at the end of this.”

We round one last corner and there’s a large group having a barbecue. The man ushers us in and gets us sorted with food. This woman about our age comes over and speaks with a London accent.

Woman: “You two have no self-preservation!”

Friend: “But we do have free food!”