“Yes,\u201d Mark said.<\/p>\n
Mark showed up at my place. \u201cJust blew another one!” he said. We played the Best of the Beach Boys, Vol 2<\/em>, and Mark sang along. He had a good voice. We hopped into Mark’s Chevy and made the scene — The Scene bar in downtown Ann Arbor. The bar had flashing colored lights, nude photos of women on the ceiling, and peace and love posters. The Scene was cheesy, an ersatz European discotheque. Stupid. The more philosophical heads in town were at Flick\u2019s Bar or Mr. Flood\u2019s Party. But Mark and I preferred the drama of The Scene, because at The Scene there was dancing, which could lead to . . . whatever. The Scene had a contingent from Ypsilanti that could go nuts at any moment.<\/p>\n I approached a girl called Pinball Annie, who was next to the speakers. She refused to budge, and I didn’t feel like going deaf, so Mark and I retreated to the loft, above the dance floor. The viewing was good up there, and Mark and I were above-average voyeurs. (Below-average players.) Mark talked about his student teaching and what he’d been reading lately. Mark worshipped Henry Miller. Mark was all about Hen (Miller) and Buk (Bukowski). Mark also admired Anais Nin, who lectured once at U-M. She defended Henry Miler before a crowd of Miller-hating women. She said Miller\u2019s writing was picaresque.<\/p>\n Mark was<\/strong><\/span> picaresque, too. (Picaresque<\/em>: “relating to an episodic style of fiction dealing with the adventures of a rough and dishonest but appealing hero.”) Mark was all that, but honest.<\/p>\n Mark sold Christmas trees in L.A., then moved to Tokyo to teach English at Sony. He quit the Sony ESL\u00a0gig after a few years and wrote books and articles about Japanese culture. One of Mark’s first books was a guide to nightlife, Tokyo After Dark. <\/em>Figures.<\/p>\n
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