The short of it is this: Valentýn is in my bed and Marek is not, and most of the time I have no idea where he is. He comes to the flat in the afternoons to shower, change, get something to eat — we kid around and usually wrestle a bit — and then he leaves. I might see him again that night or the next morning, and he may or may not sleep here, but I might not see him . . .
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