He's not sure how anyone could look at Mark, and his passion and his art, and think: What a disappointment. He's glad he manages to keep the words trapped inside his mouth, at least. He's already unwittingly sharing so much more than he likes, thanks Confluence, thanks empathy, he needs to at least get his damn mouth under control.

"Parents suck," he mumbles, finishing off the last of his food, and putting the empty container in one of the equally empty bags.