They were conversing loudly in Yiddish. The scene was confusing because they did not look Jewish to me, let alone Hasidic. We ordered slices and sodas and while we waited, we overheard a familiar name amidst their Yiddish gossip. Chaya, the braver of the two of us, inserted her opinion into their conversation. It's the way the Jewish world goes round- if you don't know each other or a cousin in some way you haven't spoken for long enough. She knew his brother and his friend. We ate our fill and exited the shop into the cold winter air. The bus seemed like it was never going to show and then he showed up, "It doesn't seem like the bus is coming today. Need a ride?" The offer was too good and we accepted. He lent me a cassette which I promised to return. I kept my promise. Twenty one years later, happily married and raising three amazing children, we never forget where we started out, in that Brooklyn pizza shop on a cold winter day.