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 . . .
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