"Boar," Mark repeats, pausing with the burger only held inches from his mouth. The halting of the motion altogether seems to make him forget that the burger is even there in his hands, in spite of the way that it's still warm, the heat still rising off of the meat in the tiniest whorls of steam. Sometimes, being able to go off on tangents in the way that Mark does has led him to the best of discoveries, the most novel of ideas, of which facebook is only one. Little remarks about how some girls had FAS pictures that made them look like farm animals, cheekbones so hollow that they looked like those of a horse, or buck teeth showing with as much prominence as those of a rabbit's, leading ultimately to the construction of a site which allowed people to compare those occasionally devastating school pictures. The burger just hovers there, the grease gradually pooling until it drips onto Mark's plate. "How very Lost of them," he says, even closing his eyes as he tries to mentally tally up how many similarities there are between the worlds. Because now, suddenly, it seems completely possible that Mark's just passed out at the table and is having a weird, crazy dream where Eduardo isn't so furious, isn't newly returned to a state where wounds hadn't festered for years yet. The fact that it makes something twinge deep in his chest, that he tries to ignore.
But they're on an island. And there's no safe way off the island. And boar is more common than cows. And Eduardo is wearing clothes that he never would have dreamed of wearing back home. That's similar enough, he thinks, eyes suddenly opening as he narrows his focus, trying to stare at Eduardo, find anything that might be indicative of Mark's hopes rather than the reality, the hope that only ever manifests in dreams.
Even things like facebook still succeeding in 2010? Possibly succeeding and still adhering to Mark's principles? That sounds too good to be true. And it takes Mark's head bobbing enough that his chin bumps against the side of his burger before he's brought back to the lure of food, taking a large bite and chewing thoughtfully.
(And contrary to what most people think, his mother did in fact teach him manners, so he swallows before saying the rest.)
"I'll probably have sold it by 2010," he says with a shrug, face forcibly impassive, save for the slightly melancholy tinge in his eyes. "It's. I'll probably have sold it. Size was never the goal."
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But they're on an island. And there's no safe way off the island. And boar is more common than cows. And Eduardo is wearing clothes that he never would have dreamed of wearing back home. That's similar enough, he thinks, eyes suddenly opening as he narrows his focus, trying to stare at Eduardo, find anything that might be indicative of Mark's hopes rather than the reality, the hope that only ever manifests in dreams.
Even things like facebook still succeeding in 2010? Possibly succeeding and still adhering to Mark's principles? That sounds too good to be true. And it takes Mark's head bobbing enough that his chin bumps against the side of his burger before he's brought back to the lure of food, taking a large bite and chewing thoughtfully.
(And contrary to what most people think, his mother did in fact teach him manners, so he swallows before saying the rest.)
"I'll probably have sold it by 2010," he says with a shrug, face forcibly impassive, save for the slightly melancholy tinge in his eyes. "It's. I'll probably have sold it. Size was never the goal."