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Walk into Geri’s Olde Philadelphia for lunch, and odds are good that you’ll walk out smelling like a cheesesteak.
At one point in playwright Tom Stoppard’s Tony-winning “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” in which Hamlet’s hapless schoolmates observe looming tragedy (their own) from the sidelines of Shakespeare’s classic play, Rosencrantz ponders the existential implications of life, and death, in a box:
