Why would a young man set up a folding table near the entrance to Prospect Park in Grand Army Plaza with a sign that read: Friends?

Is it a performance piece? Desperation? A joke? A magazine project? A sociological experiment? 

A note on the desk asked, "Will you be my friend." The note explained that this 36-year-old writer, who currently works as a proof reader and copy editor, is looking for friends. There was also a sign-up sheet for potential girlfriends.

He listed his interests, which included books and writing. I can’t remember the rest. 

This man, who asked me not to use his name, said that he came to New York City five years ago from Philadelphia to work in finance. But now he works freelance in book publishing. He is looking for a full time job in the publishing business.

He does have friends, he explained. But most of them are in Philadelphia.

"Is this a writing project?" I asked. I was sure that there had to be another reason why he’d set up  this table with the sign-up sheets.

"No," he said. "But I do write."

"What happens if I sign up to be your friend," I said warily.

"I’ll probably call you. We can talk on the phone, have a cup of coffee," he said.

Well, readers. I signed up to be his friend. I guess I signed up for MY writing project: this blog. I told the friend-seeker that I would put his picture on my blog.

"Don’t use my name," he said.

Walking away I wondered if he’d really call. I hoped he wasn’t a serial killer or some kind of nut. Maybe he just wants to make some friends.

Sitting at a table at the entrance to Prospect Park: It’s certainly a novel way to do it.