Many fervent spectators were astonished to discover a strange fellow in the stands.
He wandered around from time to time, grabbing people and asking bizarre questions.
"What is the meaning of your life?"
"Why do you like horse racing?"
"Why do these carbon-based lifeforms inspire such affection in you?"
"Why did someone tell me to bet on Number Seven? Number Five is clearly the strongest."
"Oh, right, why do you wear clothes? I wasn't wearing any earlier, and I was nearly taken away by a group of vicious creatures who called themselves police officers."
This oddly dressed fellow threw out these questions again and again.
Oh, and this hippie outfit had also been casually created by him.
In the end, after questioning many people without receiving an answer that satisfied him, the young man finally became disappointed.
"You are all so hypocritical. You never admit that you are not intelligent." He let out a deep sigh, utterly disappointed.
The more he asked, the more confused he became. Yet no one could step forward to answer his growing number of questions, much less give him the answer he sought—the meaning of life.
"Kid, if you want to find someone knowledgeable, I believe there's a person who can help you. Mr. Peter Parker, president of Parker Industries, can answer your questions. He's a genius!" An old man stared wide-eyed at the racetrack and spoke without turning around. "By the way, are you sure Number Five is the strongest? Don't lie to me, or I'll make you pay!"
But he received no response. When he turned around, the young man had already vanished.
At Parker Industries in New York, President Peter was heading to work as usual.
With a soft ding, the elevator arrived on the first floor. Peter stepped inside, and