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I was living in New Orleans at the time, right down the street from a youth hostel. A youth hostel is basically a hotel for young travelers, except that instead of staying in individual rooms, everybody normally stays in one big room with bunk beds. As far as I know, they’re not coed. At any rate, one evening, I was jonesing for pasta, so I decided to go to a local Italian restaurant for dinner. When I walked out of my apartment, I saw these three girls standing in front of the youth hostel, looking around like they were lost. Now I was used to seeing kids go in and out of the hostel all the time, so I did my best to look approachable in case they wanted to ask me for help, and sure enough, they came up to me, polite as you please, and asked me if there was anywhere nearby that they could go eat something nice and not too expensive. They were French. I gave them a few options and told them that I was on my way to my favorite Italian restaurant, and that if they were in the mood for pasta, they could by all means join me. Two of the girls loved the idea, but the third girl, Sophie, was visibly hesitant and started conferring with her girlfriends in French. Red flag number one. I knew enough French to glean that she was dead broke and wanted to find a McDonald's. Being the gentleman I am, I chivalrously offered to pay for her meal, which she accepted with no hesitation. So off we went to the restaurant, which was about a 15-minute walk as the crow flies.