One day in September 1887, Mark Twain took the train from his Connecticut home to New York to
meet Robert Louis Stevenson. Stevenson was staying at a hotel on 10th Street and University Place.
He was suffering from tuberculosis and passing through the city on his way to an upstate sanitarium.
The two writers strolled down to Washington Square Park and, following Stevenson’s doctor’s orders
to take in the sun every day, they settled down on a sunny bench to chat. Regardless of family, lunch
and doctors, they swapped stories and talked for 5 hours (10:00 - 3:00).
(There's no moral to the story. I just like the story.)