You can tell The Stranger is all for the poor working classes when they allow that last paragraph of bloated pretension. Did the writer just get finished jacking off to Derrida before he wrote this?
My friends and I had an impromptu concert at Othello Park last weekend on this piano. It was really fun. Unfortunately, some assholes came and literally ripped the keys off of the piano. Now every time I walk past the piano, I feel sad.