text: [Themes: Surreal, unicorn, humor, fantasy, adventure, educational, philosophy]
  
  > Go downwards
  You shimmy down the ladder onto the road.
  
  You're on a road by the squat concrete hut that contains the Chinese Room. In smooth black tarmac, neatly painted with white lines, the road stretches north to the village in peculiarly perfect tapering perspective. Behind you, to the south, you see the road lead towards some queer-looking hedgerows at the base of the crag. To the east, as before, stretch the plains to the horizon, with the ocean, behind sand dunes, doing likewise to the west.
  
  Well, you can only be thankful that there aren't two legs sticking out from under the hut, and that the crowds of tiny people appear to have neglected to lay on a welcome party.
  
  There is, however, a scarecrow.
  
  > think about the Monsters
  The Invisible Pink Unicorn, like the Flying Spaghetti Monster, is a popular satirical religious entity. While their use has now expanded to encompass all manner of religious satire, the original purpose was to point out a common fallacy regarding religious belief and burden of proof.
  
  It has been argued that atheism is an untenable philosophical position, as one cannot give a watertight proof for the non-existence of a religious entity: how would it be possible to prove that a god does not exist? One can only give incomplete arguments in favour of a god's non-existence, and so certain atheism is impossible.
  
  The question asked by the IPU is then, "Well, does that mean that it's perfectly justifiable for me to believe in an invisible pink unicorn orbiting Saturn? No-one's ever seen it, but I believe in it, and it's impossible for you to definitively disprove its existence." Given the intuitive ridiculousness of believing in the IPU without evidence, this response serves to shift the ground of the debate away from requiring atheists to prove an entity's existence with certainty. One implication is that we ought not to be looking for certainty, but rather for good arguments for likely beliefs; another stronger atheistic response is to use this thought experiment to claim that the burden of proof for religious entities lies not with the atheist for disproving existence but rather the believer for proving existence. The question of who holds the burden of proof has become a thorny debate.
  
  > examine the scarecrow
  Gawky, stuffed, adorned with a fixed expression and with a broom handle rammed up its backside. You'd think it were a member of the Royal Family if it weren't for the silly hat and cast-off clothing. No, wait, hang on . . .
  
  In any case, you rather wish all that sacking had been put to better use than as a body for this wretched thing.
  
  You jump back as the scarecrow rustles its arms and says, "Aren't you going to say hello then?"
  
  > talk to the scarecrow
  "Er . . . hello," you say. "I'm sorry, it's just I, um --"
  
  "Well I'll just bet you ain't never seen a talking scarecrow before? Ain't that right? Well dang me if I ain't right. Now tell me, what can I do y'for?"
  
  [1] Um, where am I?
  
  > 1
  "You just come out of that little room there, ain't you?" asks the scarecrow, as if that settled everything.
  
  [1] Er, yes.
  [2] Yes, but where am I?
  
  > 2
  "Well you're outta the liddle room, ain'tcha? And now, what do you think of this liddle land?" The scarecrow looks at you as if he's about to hang on your words like a condemned criminal from the gallows.
  
  [1] I don't know, really.
  [2] Well, I don't know, as you won't tell me where it is and it's totally weird and I'm really freaked out, actually.
  [3] It's nice.
  
  > 2
  "Now don't you be gettin' all cranky now," says the scarecrow, like an ornery old farmer dispensing invaluable wisdom, "cause it ain't healthy for a nice young adventurer like you. Now, I'll tell you, I'm something like the tour guide, as y'say, round these here parts, and if you got any questions for me, you just ask me and I'll answer best as this little scarecrow can."
  
  [1] Where the hell am I?
  [2] What's that castle over there?
  [3] What lies north, yonder?
  [4] What lies east?
  [5] What lies west?
  [6] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [7] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  "I told you that already! Outside-a the liddle room. Anything else?"
  
  [1] What's that castle over there?
  [2] What lies north, yonder?
  [3] What lies east?
  [4] What lies west?
  [5] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [6] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  The scarecrow's straw-stuffed arms snap out of in front of him, and his earthy (and deeply irritating) Kansas vowels are replaced by ringing, hollow tones saying "I do not know any thing about the castle."
  
  Then his arms relax again and, seemingly oblivious, he says "I do most humbly beg your pardon, there, what was that question agin?"
  
  [1] What lies north, yonder?
  [2] What lies east?
  [3] What lies west?
  [4] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [5] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  (Because you've always wanted a chance to justifiably say "yonder", and if this isn't it then by Godot nothing ever will be.)
  
  "Now that's just a little village," says the scarecrow. "Now, I've never been there, but I do hear it's a pretty exciting place, with all sorts for a young adventurer like yourself to do. But is there anything else you want to know before you go?"
  
  [1] What lies east?
  [2] What lies west?
  [3] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [4] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 2
  "Nothing but the wide, wide ocean, so far as I know. But I don't know much!" The scarecrow swallows an unctuous guffaw. "Anything else?"
  
  [1] What lies east?
  [2] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [3] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  "Now them's the wide, wide plains, where they do say the unicorns roam." The scarecrow waves his arms about vaguely, the two badly-stuffed sackcloth sticks not really up to the task of describing the expanse. "But I'm willing to wager that a nice young adventurer like you don't believe in unicorns, so I guess you'll be wanting to ask about something else."
  
  [1] No, what was that about unicorns?
  [2] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [3] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  "Well I don't know nothing about them, excepting that they's both pink and invisible, so I hear, but it's bad luck to talk about them so you just ask me something else," says the scarecrow sharply.
  
  [1] You're not going to start singing about whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, are you?
  [2] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  "Now I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, though I do flatter myself I have a splendid singing voice. You like to hear?"
  
  Without waiting for a response, the scarecrow bursts into a raucous rendition of "I Will Survive". One of you at least certainly won't unless you interrupt him quickly.
  
  [1] Shut up!
  [2] No, I think I'll just go, actually!
  
  > 1
  The scarecrow stops singing abruptly, looking quite hurt. "Oh," he says. "A question, then?"
  
  [1] I think I'll just go, actually.
  
  > 1
  "Right you are, then! You just come back if you want to know anything else." He starts to hum quietly to himself, which is only slightly less irritating than his talking.
  
  > ask the scarecrow about the dorothy
  Just TALK TO them.
  
  > think about the scarecrow
  Examining the scarecrow reveals two rather odd things about it: while acting with at least the appearance a conscious entity, it appears to be operated internally by a horde of homunculi, and operated externally by radio signals from China.
  
  It thus seems to be conflating two thought experiments in philosophy of mind: both Homunculi-Man and China-Brain. Homunculi-Man behaves like an ordinary person, but his brain consists of a huge operating station operated by millions of tiny people replicating the processes of a brain. China-Brain is controlled externally by the entire nation of China, which has organised its people to replicate the functions of the brain: instead of neurones firing, the people of China carry messages to each other and manipulate data, relaying the results in radio signals to the person whose brain is being operated.
  
  Both arguments seek to debunk a position known as "functionalism" which holds that if two things hold the same function, or function in exactly the same way, then they are to all purposes the same thing. In philosophy of mind, this means that if something operates like a mind -- turns the same inputs into the same outputs, then it really is a mind. Homunculi-Man and China-Brain seem to show that something is missing from this picture -- this is usually argued to be "consciousness".
  
  "Consciousness" can come to be thought of as what is missing from China-Brain. What could that be? What is it that we think of the mind as having that we think China-Brain -- or, less wildly, a robot with artificial intelligence -- lacks? The ability to feel? The ability to actually experience the senses subjectively (having "qualia"), rather than simply responding to sensory input? Or is consciousness in this sense illusory? Or is it something else that's missing from the picture of China-Brain?
  
  > examine the scarecrow
  Gawky, stuffed, adorned with a fixed expression and with a broom handle rammed up its backside. You'd think it were a member of the Royal Family if it weren't for the silly hat and cast-off clothing. No, wait, hang on . . .
  
  In any case, you rather wish all that sacking had been put to better use than as a body for this wretched thing.
  
  > examine the hat
  It looks like someone took a bunch of straw with em on an LSD trip and then threw the result under an elephant.
  
  > get sacking
  You're about to wrench the scarecrow's pole from the ground to take him with you when it starts humming, and you suddenly think better of it.
  
  > Go south
  Ignoring the scarecrow's warning, you confidently stride southward -- or make to, because instead of confidently striding southward you fall flat on your face, cracking your nose off the tarmac.
  
  Grimacing with pain and spitting grit from your teeth, you try to crawl to your feet but find yourself strangely incapacitated. Rolling onto your back, you see why -- a tiny little woman, now sitting on your knee, has tied your shoelaces together. Reaching down to undo her handiwork, you find that, with near invisible speed, she has jumped onto your aching nose and nutted you right between the eyes. You fall back with a resigned oof.
  
  "I did warn you now," says the scarecrow. "I reckon it's safe for you to untie those shoes, now, Anjeline."
  
  As you get gingerly to your feet, you catch a flash of Anjeline's underskirts as she scrambles up the scarecrow's pole and into his stuffing.
  
  > Go north
  You walk along the road towards the village. It's only a short distance, but this direct and precise road makes it seem like quite a trek, with the sight of the village always straight ahead of you, getting bigger by excruciating degrees.
  
  Eventually, though, you reach the first few village houses. Yellow-thatched and cross-timbered, they cluster around the road like groups of schoolchildren on a picnic day. And, indeed, there are children playing games outside, -- the girls in pink blouses and the boys in blue britches -- laughing and clapping and throwing hoops at each other. You try not to listen to the actual words of the games which, where children are concerned, you find, tend to be more truly horrifying than anything the best gothic authors could dream up.
  
  Something strange, you realise, has happened to the road. Without you noticing, it's switched from that black tarmac to a rutted country cartway. Then, looking up at the buildings as you walk further into the village, you see no more quaint cross-timbering but rather -- a modern pavement caf?? A bar, the word "drink" etched in fashionable lower-case letters on the window glass? Looking down, you see the road has changed again into a paved street. Looking up -- there's a maid in a peasant blouse pulling at a water pump! The bar has become a ramshackle country tavern!
  
  Blink. A medieval market village. Blink. A modern cosmpolitan town. Blink. Both at once?
  
  Your mind can't fix on a single image of the village. It seems to be every different thing at once, as and when needed. The maid, now in a crisp business suit, carries her wooden water pail into a barber shop, whose red and white striped pole sticks straight out of a dry stone wall. A man in peasant garb emerges from a building with the words "Cartesian Theatre" emblazoned above the door in neon letters. And the church's spire oscillates between a stone tower, a verdigris spire, and a concrete minaret.
  
  You shake your head furiously, as if this will make reality fix itself. You feel terribly ill.
  
  A church, a theatre, a tavern, a barbershop, a pavement caf? -- their various changing forms clutter around, entrances facing out onto what seems (most of the time) to be an ordinary village street. Passers-by duck in and out of the buildings, stop by the water pump, or carry on to a square to the north. No-one, you notice, takes the road south -- or heads along the routes east towards the storybook hills or west into the fairytale woods.
  
  > Go south
  By the road stands a scarecrow.
  
  > look at Anjeline
  Anjeline lurks beneath the scarecrow's hat. Actually, looking more closely, you see several more pairs of little eyes alongside her. With the scarecrow grinning at you, you walk around him, suspicious, noticing a tiny pair of eyes in each sackcloth nostril, several in his sackcloth mouth, and a horde beneath his straw hat. As you come behind him you see that what you originally thought was a piece of straw poking out from behind is, in fact, a radio aerial. And there's a stamp on the sackcloth: "Made in China".
  
  > get aerial
  You reach round the back of the scarecrow and snap his aerial in two. His singing winds down in an electronic slur, and his whole body droops on the pole. There's a moment of silence, and then, one by one, the homunculi tumble out of his stuffing, gathering into a comatose heap on the ground.
  
  > get sacking
  You grab a handful of sackcloth and give it a yank, pulling it free from the pole. When you empty it of straw what results is a fairly serviceable sack, which you fling nonchalantly over your shoulder.
  
  > look at the heap
  A pile of tiny unconscious people, who presumably have been acting as the scarecrow's brain on radio instructions from China. Presumably. It takes a special kind of mind to presume something like that, but a philosophy undergraduate certainly has one.
  
  > examine the sack
  (the sack)
  A very large sack, still with a few strands of straw stuck in the bottom.
  
  > get the sack
  (the sack)
  You already have that.
  
  > wear the sack
  (the sack)
  You can't wear that!
  
  > look
  A church, a theatre, a tavern, a barbershop, a pavement caf? -- their various changing forms clutter around, entrances facing out onto what seems (most of the time) to be an ordinary village street. Passers-by duck in and out of the buildings, stop by the water pump, or carry on to a square to the north. No-one, you notice, takes the road south -- or heads along the routes east towards the storybook hills or west into the fairytale woods.
  
  > look at Pump
  You walk up to the water pump in the middle of the street. As you approach, the gaggles of carters and fishwives clustered around it look at you and start gossipping furiously.
  
  The pump itself is made of polished and riveted steel, with a gleaming handle. There is a brass plaque on it which reads "Intuition Pump 3000".
  
  > think about the Pump
  "Intuition Pump" is a term popularised by the philospher Daniel Dennett to describe, somewhat pejoratively, philosophy thought experiments. All thought experiments, claims Dennett, are written in order to get us to pump out a particular intuition, to get us to think a particular thing determined by the set-up of the experiment. They're not true experiments, where what's interesting is to find out what result we'll get from the set-up, but rather rhetorical devices. Sometimes they can provide useful analogies, but it's always important, says Dennett, to look at the set-up of the intuition pump and make sure it's a good analogy, and that we're not being manipulated into pumping out an intuition we would't otherwise agree with.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a sack (open but empty)
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > look at the church
  It's as if the designer had aimed the architecture at quaint, overshot, and gone straight through and out the other side into a strange uncharted territory beyond twee. Cherubs feature.
  
  > enter the church
  You step inside the church and are hit by a blast of pure serenity. The church appears to have made up its mind about its own interior, plumping for a simple majesty in stone and wood. As the door creaks gracefully closed behind you, you survey your surroundings: the oak pews lining the nave, the beautiful arched stone roof, the carved pulpit at the head of the church and, behind it, an enormous tapestry depicting -- nothing?
  
  In one of the pews a woman in full bridal gear sits, weeping to herself. The priest, standing by the pulpit, is looking at her very awkwardly.
  
  > Pray
  God is dead.
  
  > look at the tapestry
  A monumental effort. It must have taken weeks of work to weave such a weight of white.
  
  > look at the priest
  He's dressed in severe black lightened only by a peculiar pink collar. There's an evangelical zeal in his eyes and a furry caterpillar on his top lip. It might be a moustache.
  
  > remove the tapestry
  (first taking the tapestry)
  Philosophers are not yet supermen.
  
  > look at the woman
  She's like a very damp pile of meringues, and she's getting damper by the second. She wipes her nose and eyes with a sodden veil.
  
  A man steps into the church, removes his cycle clips in awkward reverence, and walks up the centre of the aisle. He sinks to his knees in front of the tapestry, and brings a clenched hand up to his brow. Loosening the fist, he draws his hand forward and up, fully extending his arm, as if tracing the outline of something extending from his forehead. He brings his hand up and down the length several times, getting more and more rapid, before letting out a small cry, dropping his arms, standing up, bowing and hurriedly leaving the building, the oak doors swinging to behind him.
  
  > get all
  That's a bit greedy. Try taking specific things.
  
  > talk to the priest
  The priest notices you standing in the aisle and shouts, "Welcome, adventurer! Has  the invisible pink unicorn made herself known to you as your equestrian saviour?"
  
  [1] No, I don't think so.
  [2] Ye-es . . .
  [3] Invisible pink unicorn?
  
  > 3
  "The Invisible Pink Unicorn (Blessed Be Her Holy Hooves) is the supreme deity, mistress of all in heaven and earth, creator of time and space, and trotter along the High Plains!" His arms raise up to the ceiling and his whole body vibrates with a sing-song zeal.
  
  [1] Er . . . right . . . And you believe that, do you?
  [2] That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
  
  > 1
  "I believe, for only She can protect me from the Purple Oyster (Of Doom)," he says, sounding the final word like a foghorn on an iceberg.
  
  [1] You are truly insane.
  [2] Um, OK. Look, I'm struggling a bit here. What evidence do you base your faith on?
  
  > 2
  "No, unbeliever, you don't understand! Have you proved that She does not exist? No, no, thrice no! The burden of proof, my young friend, is on you."
  
  As he speaks you suddenly feel a heavy weight drag your neck down. Grappling at your throat, you loop over your head a lengthy leather thong at the end of which hangs a mysterious weight. The priest grins broadly at you, and suddenly the candlelit church appears dark and threatening. You hear thunder rumble outside, and with a backward glance stumble out of the doors.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a Burden of Proof
  a sack (open but empty)
  a Chinese key
  a manual
  
  > examine Burden
  A weighty matter, made of weighty matter. It hangs about your neck on a leather thong, but you wish it would hang about somewhere else, like a nice bar or a street corner. Whenever you speak it hangs on your every word, lusting after some token of truth, but, similarly, you wish it would just hang on something else. It can go hang itself, basically.
  
  > drop Burden
  Dropped.
  
  > drop Burden
  The Burden of Proof is already here.
  
  > take Burden
  (putting the manual into the sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > enter church
  There's no way you're going back in there just now. Besides, every time you go near a massive rumble of thunder breaks across the sky, despite there not being a cloud in sight. If that's not the world trying to give you a hint then nothing is.
  
  > Climb church
  You're positively climbing up the walls.
  
  > think about Sartre
  Jean Paul Sartre (1905 - 1980) was a pioneering French existentialist, socialist, public intellectual and literary writer, and has since become an icon of philosophy and black coffee. His thought centred around concepts of free will and life-defining choice -- he claimed that individuals create the meaning of their own lives.
  
  > think about Kant
  Immanuel Kant (1724 - 1804) was one of the most influential thinkers writing towards the end of the Enlightenment. Writing on metaphysics, ethics, aesthetics and politics, he ushered in a new critical way of approaching philosophy, founded not only on rigorous rationalism, but also, most importantly, on the division of the discursively-produced "world of appearances" (as it appears to consciousness) and the "world in itself (as it is independent of consciosuness). His philosophy defined the terms of the debate which has followed ever since. It's also famed for being some of the densest and most impenetrably-written of philosophy -- which probably only serves to enhance its reputation due to the small number of people who actually understand it.
  
  > think about the Socrates
  Socrates  (c. 470 BC - c. 399 BC) was an early Greek philosopher, the teacher of Aristotle, who founded many of the subjects and methods of Western philosophy. The Socratic method of constant and persistent questioning of assumptions remains a driving force of philosophy. He wrote down none of his own philosophy, and so his works and (highly dramatic) life are known to us only through his pupils, especially Plato, his contemporaries, and historians.
  
  > think about Hegel
  Georg Hegel (1770 - 1831) was one of the most important of the German idealists. Writing on culture and politics, he developed a particular dialectical philosophy, a philosophy of progress, with influential thoughts on freedom, art, history and morality.
  
  > enter the Theatre
  You try the theatre doors, but they're fastened shut.
  
  "Nah mate," says the man leaning by the entrance. "We've been closed down, innit?"
  
  [1] Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Why?
  [2] Typical. Trapped inside a vindictive fantasy world and I can't even watch some life-affirming theatre.
  
  > 1
  "Him in there," he says, indicating the church with a grubby thumb. "Sez the performing arts is an insult unto Her name."
  
  [1] Whose name?
  [2] Ouch, tough break. Stupid religion, isn't it?
  [3] And he had the power to close you down?
  
  > 3
  "Nah, but soon as he says something everyone listens, know what I mean? Wouldn't a soul dare come in here."
  
  [1] Ouch, tough break. Stupid religion, isn't it?
  [2] That sucks. There's no way to convince everyone how daft the religion is?
  [3] And isn't there anyone who could help?
  [4] Well, that's rough, mate, but I'd best be getting on.
  
  > 3
  "Nah," he says sadly. "Unless you's offering."
  
  [1] Alright, you're on. I'll prove She doesn't exist. Then we'll get you going again.
  [2] Guess you're right. I'd best be getting on, then.
  
  > 1
  He looks at you askance, cynically. "Give it yer best shot then," he says. "See you round."
  
  > think about Plato
  Plato (428 - 348 BC) was an ancient Greek philosopher, who began relaying the philosophy of his teacher, Socrates, in a series of written dialogues, before developing his own. A founder of idealism (in politics, metaphysics, ethics, aesthetics and just about everything else), he taught in his turn Aristotle, whose reputation eventually grew to eclipse his own during the Middle Ages, before a Renaissance rediscovery of Plato.
  
  > enter the cafe
  Pavement Caf?
  The caf? spills out into the street. Steel chairs are scattered around the serving kiosk, apparently chaotically, though you suspect there's a cynical art to it. Most of the customers are buried in books, thimble-sized cups of black coffee steaming by them and handmade cigarettes rolling around the corners of their mouths. Some of them, though, are intense young couples clasping hands across their plates, boring into each other's eyes as if looking for some flaw, breaking the gaze only to toss hair or adjust a beret. Sitting in the corner, Jean-Paul Sartre surveys the caf? around him and smiles in a satisfied yet enigmatic way.
  
  A willowy young server stands behind the kiosk, smiling in a way that makes you want to know her better.
  
  > talk to the server
  You smile at the server and say, "Hello".
  
  "Hello," she replies.
  
  Well, that's that off to a good start.
  
  [1] Do you serve here often?
  [2] What time do you finish?
  [3] Can I have your phone number?
  [4] What's for lunch?
  
  > 1
  She giggles coyly and swings from side to side. "That depends," she says.
  
  [1] Oh, really? On what?
  [2] Actually, on second thoughts, I'm starving. What's for lunch?
  
  > 1
  She leans in close to you, opens her lips a little, and says, "On whether you stop staring down my dress and order some goddamn food."
  
  [1] Er . . . sorry . . . what's on the menu?
  [2] Ah. I suppose that means "No" then, does it? You wouldn't reconsider?
  
  > 1
  Lighting a cigarette, she mutters at you bitterly, "Fresh summer sorbet of pre-phyllorexa claret, plovers" egg omelet with a side-platter of seasonal vegetables, oven-roasted black swan on a bed of couscous with a thyme and fennel garnish, or eggs, soss, an' beans."
  
  [1] Could I have the sorbet?
  [2] Could I have the omelet?
  [3] Could I have the swan?
  [4] Er, eggs, soss, and beans?
  
  > think about the swan
  [I need some kind of reaction from you to continue the scene. Enter a number, or say REPEAT to reacquaint yourself with your options.]
  
  > 3
  "Actually, no-one's ever seen a black swan round these parts," she admits abruptly. "Though I hear some Australians have been spinning a few yarns. Something else?"
  
  [1] Could I have the sorbet?
  [2] Could I have the omelet?
  [3] Er, eggs, soss, and beans?
  
  > 1
  "Nah, sorry, fridge is broken. Something else?" she says curtly.
  
  [1] Could I have the omelet?
  [2] Er, eggs, soss, and beans?
  
  > 1
  "Fresh out of plover's eggs, I'm afraid. Actually," she says, thinking aloud, "if you could get some of those little seaside ovulations, I might just do something nice for you. Meanwhile, something else?"
  
  [1] Er, eggs, soss, and beans?
  
  > 1
  "Right-o. That'll be fifty pence"
  
  Ah. Paying. Yes, you'd forgotten about that. You give the server a sheepish look, to which she only replies, "No cash, no beans."
  
  > examine server
  She glares back at you as you admire her.
  
  > talk to Sartre
  The philosopher looks heavily at you and says, "Everything is meaningless. We create our own meaning."
  
  [1] No, we don't.
  [2] Ah oui, c'est vrai.
  
  > 2
  If he is pleased at your answer, he doesn't show it. "Tell me," he demands, "What has value?"
  
  [1] Nothing.
  [2] Ta m?re.
  [3] What is chosen.
  [4] Black coffee and cigarettes.
  
  > 2
  He huffs sharply at you and turns dismissively to his coffee.
  
  > talk to Sartre
  "Do you know yet, what has value?" asks Sartre heavily.
  
  [1] Nothing.
  [2] Ta m?re.
  [3] What is chosen.
  [4] Black coffee and cigarettes.
  
  > 3
  "Exactly! There is no objective value in anything."
  
  [1] Even in money?
  [2] Even in love?
  [3] Even in black coffee and cigarettes?
  
  > 1
  He seems animated. "Even in money!" he cries.
  
  [1] Wow. My whole life has been a lie.
  [2] Excellent. You won't mind if I take yours then.
  
  > look at the wallet
  It contains only one pound coin and a lighter. You remove them both and discard it in disgust at the poverty of unemployed philosophers.
  
  > talk to server
  You'd rather just give her her money when you've got it, rather than face her wrath.
  
  > give the coin to the server
  You hand over your money abashedly, at which, after thrusting your change at you, the server vanishes into the kitchen in a huff. Peculiar clanky, sweary sounds come from within.
  
  > look at the coin
  Golden and round, it's a shiny pound!
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a fifty pence piece
  a lighter
  a Burden of Proof
  a sack (open)
  a manual
  a Chinese key