Marking Time

Among my acquaintances and friends I know four people called Mark. One is a stockbroker, he’s okay. Two of the other Marks are rip-off merchants and the last Mark is very honest and quite kind, he lives in Denver.

The rip-off Marks tell fantastic tales, they seem to be very keen on Tuesday as a settlement day. I’ve been through a month of Tuesdays so far. I learned that ‘marking time’ is something to do with lending money and the eons that pass while you are not getting it back.

Bent-Mark model #1 got me for seven thousand dollars and the other bent-Mark got eight thousand euros, both are very arrogant. People are food to them. The world has been assigned the task of keeping them going at all costs. Mark my words.

One night, I was laying on my bed in a dingy hotel feeling sad and sorry for myself, pondering the rotten karma of having met too many Marks in this lifetime. I was rather broke and lonely, eight grand would have cheered me up to no end. Suddenly a hazy angelic being appeared by my bed. I couldn’t see it real well, the light was on, you can’t see them well in very bright light, but it was there none-the-less. It said, referring to bent euro-Mark, “He’s got his head so far up his arse when he farts, he blinks.”

I giggled and giggled and felt better.

But it has affected my perception a bit. When I see him next in the pub I’ll step away if he’s blinking. Still, when these banditos get really terrified they will come back, bearing gifts for delivery Tuesday, no doubt.