"Existentialism is the idea that life is meaningless, and that we have to create any kind of meaning in life for ourselves," I explain.
"Sure, but to say that there's no reason for things to happen, that things happen for no reason at all, that's just stupid, and it's not true," she replies in exasperation.
A guy in torn pants holding what looks like an open but turned-off flip phone, with a hair cut that appears to have been administered by someone who didn't like him very much, walks by our seat on the stoop, and asks, or maybe demands, that we give him twenty dollars, or maybe he tries to explain to us that someone further up the block gave him twenty dollars, and we should definitely think about doing the same?
I finally settle on, "Sorry, we don't have any money," which seems to satisfy him, and he staggers off into the night.
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