While in grad school I met a man, scrawny, with a patchy beard, prime to be philosophical. He smirked at my Christianity and spouted lines from the angry German who died gibbering. We stood in a soulless academic hallway and looked at each other. I’m afraid I didn’t listen carefully. I was watching him eat while he talked, munching fries. I could see a burger box still tucked into the bag. “What is rightness?” I asked. I’d interrupted a train of thought. He chewed and raised his eyebrows. “Whatever comes from strength. Evil comes from weakness.” “Give me the fries,” I said quietly. “What?” I
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