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I bumped into someone I hadn't seen for sometime, but someone I've known in passing for say seven years. They are around twenty-five. He let on to me, because I never notice anyone in the street, which comes over as rude, but is more a case of poor eyesight and concentrating on not falling over - it's a long story. I immediately felt he needed help. No, that would be wrong to say. I recognized and empathized with the way anyone's mid twenties are not easy. The introduction to the difficulties of life has little humour to it. Out the other side, in your fifties, we'll keep how old I am at that, and your own life, however serious other people's seem, is a bit of a joke. 'What's the book?' I asked. He had a book under his arm 'A history of philosophy,' he said, adding 'I like Wittgenstein.' 'Ah,' I said 'The world is all and that is the case. Though he changed his mind about it.' I could have added ' What cannot be put into words must be shown,' but I didn't have the presence of mind to put it into words. He mentioned Foucault in a personal context, and I countered with J R Laing, which after I got home I found there was a connection between the great J R Laing and Foucault. J, I'll call him J was having a rest from Barcelona - a difficult four or five years - how well I know that feeling. I left him with the joke 'Life is a sexually transmitted disease with a mortality rate of 100%' Always on the slim side, as Catalan's often are, he was now very thin. But I feel there is some hope for him.I wonder if there is any for me.

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