For what isn't the first time in his life, Mark is at a loss.
Mark is completely broke. Not that he's new to being penniless; in fact, he is most of the time. But right now, there's nothing he can do. He has no work, he has no more money in the envelope under his pillow, and Roger is just as hopeless as he. Mark rummages through all his shit – his drawers, his closet, his assorted bags. He looks through his pockets and that little box beneath his bed. He dumps all the valuables on to his bed – an old ring, a picture frame, and some antiques his mom had given to him once upon a time. He grabbed all the coffee cups from all those diners and some old memorabilia from when he was small.
Mark, he's always been sentimental. He thinks about all the things that he could sell for so much money. He thinks about all the memories he could sell to people with holes in their hearts and all the laughter he could give to mothers and children who cry too often. Mark, he's a little taken with the idea of giving the things of real worth to those who really need them. He thinks that he could sell all those strong embraces and tight grips that he had to offer while Roger was going through withdrawal to recovering addicts or just somebody sad. He thinks that some of those memories are a little broken, a little bruise. He thinks that they could stand to be repaired by somebody who had the capacity to do that, someone who doesn't mind all the fake smiles and horrible workloads that come with forty-hour workweeks.
Mark thinks that he would like to sell that sense of wonder and excitement that he always hid away. He didn't need it anymore. He didn't notice it. He was bored, apathetic and empathetic all at once. Mark, he never cries, but he laughs (sometimes too much) all the time because he hates awkward situations. Mark, at one time, he dreamed of being a fine and dignified filmmaker. A director, a writer. In his dreams, his way to the top was complicated and messy, but he always had his dignity. Of course, his dignity fled him as soon as he left home for messy, crazy, restless New York where it's always noisy and filthy. His dignity was completely gone by the first time his mother called him when he moved into the flat. His dignity, Mark thinks, has already been gone by the time he turned 17, with the lectures from his father and the knowing looks from his mother.
Mark, he wonders if Roger's got anything of value. He wonders if Roger is willing to trade any of his material values for some cash. Mark, he thinks that maybe Roger will understand his little garage sale, because he must be hungry, too.