Mark was a dunce of a man, just a pile of beef that had been scooped into the rough shape of a human man. The beef had been sewn into skin-like leather, and mixed with chicken bones, turkey necks, and a small brain that could have come from any critter or avian donor. The head was a donation by the butcher’s uncle, a man who’d died while eating his 7th hotdog during the big game.

Mark’s leather body was then blasted with more volts of electricity than anyone could possibly stand, and the next day, he was alive and working at a bank as a teller. Customers were astounded by Mark’s lack of communication skills, but more appalled that he seemed not to grasp the concept of money or numbers.

Olive, the bank’s floor manager, scolded him for the poor service he was offering, and offered one on one training with Mark for the rest of the week. By the end of it, Mark was an absolute pro. He began giving customers financial advice on the fly, upsold them to large investment accounts, and truly helped the common man more than any bank had in history.

…

“You see, Desmond, here at Harper Financial, we always strive to aim our arrow right at the bullseye, to help your wealth grow along with the knowledge of how and why it is growing. To help you, your family, and your community learn how to invest and create a better future,” Mark said, with charisma and confidence.

“Where do I sign!? I can’t thank you enough, Mark, this will help my entire gene pool for years to come. Today starts my new life; my year of Jubilee!” Desmond said, overjoyed with how helpful Mark had been.

“It is my absolute privilege and pleasure, sir. Please have a wonderful week, and know, without any doubt, that Harper Financial is here for you, Sunday through Sunday, for eternity. Here is my personal cell phone number, in case you have any issues with your accounts,” Mark said, gently passing his card over to his euphoric customer.

…

After work, Mark didn’t really have anywhere to go as he’d only existed for one week and hadn’t received a paycheck yet. He would wander the city, looking for free beef, as it was all he needed to survive. Each day, he would expel four hundred and fifty three grams of beef, and he would need to consume exactly four hundred and fifty three grams of beef as well.

He had been lucky so far, and found that most butchers had been willing to trade him the 453 for a small favor, such as getting them a coffee or cleaning out their gutters.

After he’d finished today’s favor, which was cutting out every individual letter in a newspaper and throwing them each into the trash, he expelled and consumed his beef. The butcher grunted, his nose so purple and pickled that it blocked most of his eyesight. “Oi thar, no more expellin’ yer beef in my alley. Not in my cans, not in the gutter, nowhere. Stinks of evil it does,” the butcher exclaimed through his stained mustache.

Mark now felt a new emotion; Shame. He was horrified that his beef expellence had most likely repulsed anyone who’d been near any of the areas he’d decided to drop. He got down onto all fours and began galloping to the outskirts of the city, weeping pink tears. People pointed at him, sneered, and hid as he passed them. This just added to his frustration, and he began to buck his hind legs into the air, so saddened by his newfound reality.

As the night was settling in, he found an old industrial warehouse outside of the city. Thick cobwebs and dust covered the windows, rust covered the garage door, and it seemed to be vacant. All of these concepts meant nothing to Mark, but he did notice there were no people, so he crawled through a broken window. It was dark inside, but he had excellent night vision, and wandered the warehouse until he found a strange metal door. It had an arrow pointing down, and he pressed it. The metal door opened, and he went inside.

On the wall, there was a panel full of additional buttons, each of which was cracked, broken, or taped over. At the bottom of the panel, there was an X. He pressed it, and the elevator closed and began sinking into the depths. When the door opened, he saw a massive concrete room, well lit with bright fluorescent bulbs. Nearly a mile away, there was a twin bed with red silk sheets, and he walked all the way through the large room and crawled into the bed.

Mark slept the finest sleep he’d ever had, as it was the first night of his life spent indoors. When he woke up, more pink tears flowed from his eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. “Now this… This will be a great place for me to expel my 453 grams of beef.”

He began his one mile journey back to the elevator to leave for the bank.

…

“So Mark, congratulations on your one month at Harper Financial! You’ve really excelled here, and we are so proud of you,” Olive said, smiling at him.

“Well thank you, it has been fun to learn your customs and the currency of this world,” Mark said.

Olive looked at him sort of blankly, and then smiled again. “So, have you found a good spot to live? You’re new to town, so you must have gotten a new apartment or rental, yeah?”

Mark looked sheepish, looked down at his thumbs.

“You haven’t found a spot yet!? Are you staying at a hotel?” she asked.

“No, I, I do have a spot. I have… I have THE spot, yeah. It's an amazing spot, thats why I call it The Spot,” Mark said, his chin held high and pride beaming.

“That is amazing! You know, I’m looking for a new spot, where is it?”

Panic. Pink sweat ran down his stitched leather face. “Uhmm, you know, it is completely full at the moment, yeah. But the place… It's called X. The building. It’s very, uhm, you guys say… It’s very good vibes, yeah, that's the word. That's why it’s The Spot.”

…

Mark had been working at Harper Financial for thirty years now. He had lived ten stories beneath the old warehouse for 30 years as well, and had expelled nearly five million grams of rotten beef. He was unable to have a wife or family, but he did enjoy the world. He had become an excellent golfer, and sometimes travelled to other states for tournaments, and once he’d even flown to Scotland.

When he’d finished locking up the bank, he got into his fully loaded luxury SUV and drove back towards The Spot. He had installed a locked refrigerator in front of the warehouse, and had beef delivered to him now. He was excited to get home and consume and expel as quick as possible so he could make it to trivia night at his favorite bar.

As he neared his destination, an immediate sickness came over him as he saw a giant stream of pitch black smoke. He parked on the street and looked on as tons of vehicles and workers surrounded the warehouse. People in hazmat suits were exiting the spot with wheelbarrows full of his expelled beef and dumping them out onto a large plastic tarp. From there, other men in hazmat suits were lifting the beef and throwing it into a large bonfire.

“That does it,” Mark seethed.

He got out of his car and slammed the door as hard as he physically could, and then ran at the workers on all fours, howling and shrieking. The workers didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, Mark had already dove into the air with a loud screech. He landed on one of the workers and ripped the mask off of his face. The man’s face turned green at the smell of the beef pile, and immediately passed out. Mark slapped the man’s face, but nothing was going to wake him up.

“The Spot! The Spot! What have you done to my beautiful X, my perfect home? WHY WHY WHY???” Mark roared.

A large gathering of workers had circled Mark, and one walked forward without removing the hazmat mask. “Sir! I see you are upset, but you’ve got to understand, this isn’t our decision, this is just our job! Please try to remain calm. This old warehouse was purchased and is marked to be demolished. It would have already been torn down, but health and safety said they’ve never encountered a more deathly, God awful, evil smell in their entire careers. Analysts tested the site and said it would need to be decontaminated before it could be demolished, and they’ve already completely gassed and charred level ten of the basement. Now all’s we gotta do is clear the rest of the putrid poison out and this here wrecking ball will do the rest.”

Mark looked up at the wrecking ball, and for some reason, the sun glinted off of it in such a way that it changed everything about who Mark had become. He let out a guttural growl that made half of the men turn and begin to run. It was such a loud, heavy bass frequency, that he began expelling far too much of his beef. It poured out of his mouth. He then lunged at the foreman like a wild dog. But before he reached him, another worker hit him with a shovel, and ripped open his leather sewn skin. Beef poured out, and Mark started whimpering as he made his way to the white tarp to lay upon his old beefy remains.

The men sneered as they realized he was just a sewn leather purse of a person and undid the stitching, releasing all that was left of Mark’s beef, chicken bones, turkey necks, and his extremely small brain. They became one with the rotten beef pile, as if nobody had ever existed at all. The stench was unbearable, and the rest of the rotten beef was burnt. The building was destroyed, and eventually a new Condo Complex was erected. It was called “The Spot.”