Christmas is coming

If Marek brings up Vánoce one more time, I really am gonna cry.

Somehow, Marek and I got on the subject of friendship. I was on the MacBook and not paying a lot of attention. He was smoking a cigarette beside me in the bent plywood IKEA chair and had brought David — a cute butch station rent boy whom I’ve never had — into the flat. They had cooked up our last stores of pasta and rice . . .

Sorry, but this content is restricted to paying subscribers only.

Register here. Choose a monthly, yearly, or lifetime membership.

Then support risky writing here.

 

 

 

Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedback
View all comments
0
Hate my guts? Say it to my face.x
()
x
en_USEnglish
Scroll to Top