I sit down next to Sartre at an outdoor table at a café in India. I'm not sure where exactly -- it looks a little like New Delhi. Definitely a large city. Sartre, apparently, has not died but has moved to India because he prefers the warmer climate. He looks quite young. He points to the newspaper open on the table in front of him (The Times of India) and says how glad he is that they've finally found a cure for tuberculosis.