Meeting the Neighbors

I've been living in an apartment for about seven months now, so I suppose it's about time that I started meeting our neighbors. Up to last night the only notable interaction we've had with any outsiders have been listening in on fights between crazy people, that one evening where the apartment below us smelled like a hamster cage, and a few weeks ago when I walked past the guy who lives next door as I came down the stairs and he mumbled something along the lines of "howgoin?" Fortunately, last night a friendly fellow approached Jon and I as we basked in the greatness of the community hot-tub. Although I don't remember his name, he politely introduced himself after asking if we left the outdoor grill on. We hadn't, but luckily this served as a fantastic opportunity for our neighbor to grill up a few savory meat strips.
While they simmered, he struck up a conversation with Jon and I which began ruminating on his old smoking days, then turned to the lack of women roving around the apartment complex, then the joy of children, the pain of his ex wife, maybe wives, and then finally turned to his various motorcycle mishaps.
While turning the meat, Jon briefly questioned the man's sanity, but finally we settled on the fact that he was simply a nice, slightly drunk, and maybe a little unbalanced, older man. We liked him. Jon even accepted the man's offer of a bite of grilled steak.
I myself have not only made it a goal, but a rule regarding my own self preservation to not accept strangers meat, under any circumstances, especially when I'm in a hot-tub. It's not that I don't trust him, it's just a principle that has gotten me 21 years ahead in my life. Is that so wrong?

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