I had to include a Lake.

This story is contributing to me being a "Master of Arts." Kind of in the same way Brett Whiteley was a "master of art," but I will actually have a proper graduation and formal qualifications.

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Mark stared the kind of stare that he wished a camera crew was there to record. It was one of those long, focused stares. The kind of stare that would be used in a video clip filmed in the rain on a Greyhound bus. It was such a good stare. Onlookers (of which there were none) would see him and immediately understand the significance of the private moment the man was sharing with himself. They would leave him alone to reflect.

This was an image the man was all too keen to create. In reality, his entire internal focus was dedicated to maintaining this philosophical aesthetic. Not to say that the man had not done any thinking at all, mind. At several points he had imagined what a stirring eulogy he would make at a friend's funeral – should they die suddenly and tragically. The politics of grieving would deny him the rousing applause he deserved, but he did not do things for public recognition. He simply was not that type of a man. The stare was briefly interrupted as the man strained his memory trying to recall if the crowd had applauded after Earl Spencer's address at Lady Di's memorial.

Mark had visited the lake as a personal reward for his efforts earlier that day. Having been subjected to a string of demeaning and generally unbearable assignments as an office temp, he had finally taken action in form of a face to face with his recruitment consultant, Kathy.

Mark's previous suspicion that Kathy's attractive voice directly correlated with the rest of her was correct. He immediately sensed that Kathy felt the same way about him, and thus the meeting started smoothly.
"So Mark, what can I help you with today?" Kathy asked, motioning him to a high-backed black swivel-chair.
"Um, well there's a few things I s'pose. Firstly, I'm not that happy with some of the assignments you have, ah, assigned me."
"Okay, sure. What aren't you happy about? What can we do better?" Kathy was all smiles.
Mark shifted awkwardly in his chair. He had been overly concerned with Kathy’s impression of him and had forgotten his pre-prepared any specific examples.
"Well, there was the one last week, Nespresso I think the company was called? My entire task involved holding down a desk chair for three days and folding three different brochures for some tacky coffee technology into an envelope."
"A bit boring was it?"
"Well, yes." Mark paused for effect. "They were so annoying, Kathy. They kept using the word 'amazing' to describe their own product, and the women had one of those frustrating accents."
"Frustrating accents?"
"You know the expat kids who end up going to international school in Hong Kong or Singapore? A little bit American. Kind of like those Russian tennis players who move to Florida at about 14?"

Kathy's silence suggested that she was not a very intelligent woman.