Two women in a car that had seen better days approached me on my walk the other Saturday and asked me what town they were in. I have previously noted that it is uncanny how many times I am asked for directions, which suggests to me that I must have about me an aura of charity and friendliness. That looks like a guy who knows his streets, they must think.

“St. Paul, Minnesota,’’ I said, now wishing I had thought to ask them what town did they think they were in.

“But what part?’’ the driver said.

Not to be unkind, but they were large women and heavily tattooed, if that is even apropos of anything. I would put them in their 20s. Only the driver did the talking.

“What do you mean what part?” I said.

“East, west, north?”

This occurred at about St. Albans and Goodrich.

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Soucheray: On the stoop of Sacred Heart Church, they do what they can do “You are in the middle of town,’’ I said. “You couldn’t be more in the middle.’’

I pointed east and said, “Downtown is about a mile that way.”

She seemed to ponder that for a moment.

“We got off the freeway at Dale,” she said. I didn’t need to know that but on the off-chance that my getting them back to Dale Street would get them out of town, I offered the information.

“Dale is two blocks that way,” I said, pointing. “Take a left and it will take you back to the freeway.”

They left. I checked the license plate but did not memorize it. Minnesota plate.

Later, in recounting this odd incident, two theories developed. I was convinced that I had encountered two gals so disconnected from reality that they didn’t even know what town they were in. And isn’t that life’s most essential need, knowing where you are?

I was prepared to go with that assumption. Just look at the news and the terrible fixes people get themselves in. I found it perfectly believable that the two gals were that dumb.

But then I told the story to a buddy with a law enforcement background in his family.

“What were you wearing?”

“Red shorts. Red shirt.”

“Dark socks?”

“Yes.”

“The walking shoes with the yellow neon stripes?”

“Why, yes.”

“They figured you for a vulnerable adult and were probably sizing you up to take you down.”

That gave me pause. Now that I think about it, the passenger was sitting side saddle in the front seat and might have been communicating signals to the blabbermouth driver. And, as non-functioning as many people can be, I suppose it is not really plausible to not know what town you are in.

“Why didn’t they rob me, then?” I asked my buddy.

“Because even though you looked like somebody who had become separated from your group you didn’t strike them as vulnerable. You talked too much. And you had no fear. They just figured this clown doesn’t have any money.”

To make it more chilling, I imagine that if they had attempted to rob me they would have had to do it with a gun. These gals were not on their high school track teams. Neither of them would have made it 10 steps in a foot race.

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. As much as I would not have been surprised that they didn’t know what town they were in, the robbery — or whatever they wanted to do — theory makes more sense.

Well, I guess if you live in Crocus Hill, one of the nicest walking neighborhoods in the city, have a care. Be alert and, I suppose, to take an extra precaution, dress smartly. These street cruisers might be looking only for the raggedy sort.

Joe Soucheray can be reached at jsoucheray@pioneerpress.com. Soucheray is heard from 1 to 4 p.m. weekdays on 1500ESPN.