And words are futile devices (pt. 2)

As it turns out, my short story ends only a few lines after my last post left off.  Here's the remaining text:

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"And that's why you're lying here?"

"Yes."

"On a concrete wall."

"Yes."

"At eleven-thirty at night."

"Yes."

"Because you feel like your friendships are all disintegrating and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Yes.  Well---no.  Not exactly.  It's like, I just realized that they all have the capacity to disintegrate, with little to no warning.  And that's what freaks me out.  Not knowing.  Well, that and the lack of a real, meaningful relationship with another human being."

She paused for a moment, presumably attempting to compare this man's problems with her own, and arrived at a conclusion.  Haltingly, she scooted down the concrete wall another foot and a half or two, then lay down so that their bodies made a line, separated by six inches of space between the point where his head ended and hers began.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm having an existential crisis."

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...aaaand that's the end.  Comment if you like it.  Or if you don't, and if you don't please leave suggestions.