#markissa

Mark is just a weird freak of a man, really. Like, ten and a half years ago when Clarissa first went to college, she was unwittingly made witness to a myriad of his strange peculiarities. He would sit off by himself a lot in dark corners, staring off into space, dissecting (like really, truly, picking apart) the same sandwich layer by layer, then eating every one of his chips one by one until he got to the salty flakes at the bottom of the bag. There was of course, moree, but that was what really stuck with her. 

She's fascinated.

“Can I sit?” She asks him one day after several weeks of observing him. Well, not observing him per se, it’s not like she’s some sort of creepy stalker, rather noticing. Noticing him in places she didn’t before, like in the library and around the dorms, or coming out of classrooms she was going into. He seems like a secondary, or maybe even tertiary passenger in his own body with the way he floats guilelessly around campus. 

Ahem. 

Anyway.

She asks him and he doesn’t respond, just looks up at her from where he’s sat with big, wet, sad blue eyes and cheeks stuffed with sandwich guts. He pauses, like he’s not sure that she’s speaking to him on purpose.

“Hello?” She tries again, bouncing on her heels, “Can I sit with you?”