Marek’s gone, or Adventures in Passive-aggressiveness

I could have written that headline two days ago, but I prevented him from leaving that time by refusing to unlock the door and by begging him not to go. I actually got down on my knees.

He simply told me last night that he wasn't coming home and that he wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. We were drinking champagne with Albi on his construction-site bunkbed. We had just come from Rudolfa where Marek had also told me . . .

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