Sunday evenings are a time of reflection, introspection and panic. As the memories we managed to retain from harrowing nights fade and blur, one thing remains: the Sharpie marks. The infamous Xs for us youngsters, and stamps for the elderly among us, defy the current of time, marking where we have been and our relative ages. Ever notice how the stain tends to migrate onto your face after a night of sleeping on your hand? It’s awesome. Right now, I detect traces of blue (?) from Friday night, red stamps from the rugby party that I wasn’t invited to and…is that purple? From last weekend?!