Well, it’s happened again.
Marek came to my window yesterday and demanded that Valentýn give him back his little bag of clothes. I could sort of tell Marek was angry about something, but since I was eating, I just let it and him go.
Later in the day, Valentýn told me he’d run into Marek at the stationPrague's main train station, where I spent a lot of time picking up boys. More and that he had demanded to know why I had called him kurva, the . . .
Sorry, but this content is restricted to paying subscribers only.
Register here. Choose a monthly, yearly, or lifetime membership.
Then support risky writing here.