His name is Mark. Mark is the Christian name of the invisible disciple. Maybe he needed a better agent to coach him. He may have been less confident than the other noble disciples.
Mark’s confidence soared as he waded through his party of friends to find his new love surrounded by bug-eyed men, all lathered up. “It’s time to go, honey”.
Mark swallowed the hook. He was living beyond his wildest dreams, until she asked him to pay her rent. In less than five days, Mark was still Mr. Cellophane.
Predators come in many different skins. Mark should have known, but it took him decades to realize he was about to marry his Mother. For now, Mark was the envy of his peers, and dreams can come true even for……. Mark won the big door prize. He was so glad it was making him sick, like a cold, only sadder. It was time to run. Predators love to run.
California, here we come.
Mark felt better every mile. He and his dream packed all they could carry in his pick-up and a U-haul trailer. They stopped after dark somewhere in the middle of Nevada. Fate steered them to a motel ensnared in time. It was too dark to see much. They were so tired the bed felt perfect. The rising sun would wake them up through white embroidered curtains surrounded by warm colors. It smelled like Grandma’s house as Mark’s stuffed-up nose felt clear and free. It was perfect. Mark and his dream were on their way to West Coast heaven with a smell of uncertainty all too familiar. Mark was always an optimist in the beginning. How long would it last?
When his daughter was born, was she from the town where he first saw her in the hospital or the place where she was created? What about the insanity involved in between?
Sorry, Shit has yet to hit the fan.