At least, I’m fairly certain I won’t be writing anymore about him. He’d become such a fucking cipher: Sleeping all day, eating, sleeping some more, shitting, eating, napping. Useless, in other words.

I came home from the station a couple days ago after a couple hours making introductions and wrangling rent boys. Vasile, as usual, had made dinner. Valentýn was lounging on the sofa in his underwear smoking a cigarette. I did not lose it although I could have.

I simply told him he had one week to start working or he had to leave. In the meantime, he could start doing dishes and cleaning once in awhile, two things he hadn’t done once since he’d wandered in back off the streets a week or so ago. We haven’t had sex either, not because I haven’t had the time or haven’t been horny but because I’m not attracted to him anymore. He’s indolent and shiftless and it turns me off. Marek, at least, has done some shopping and has been doing dishes every night. He just wasn’t doing me. No one has been doing me and that’s been pissing me off as well.

Two nights ago Valentýn was scheduled to meet up with Vasile’s father a final time to confirm that he would start working on his construction site. Valentýn took off earlier in the day his pack on his back and a smirk on his face. He assured me he’d be back by 8 for the meeting. I didn’t understand the smirk until today when Vasile told me that someone had stolen out of his room the watch he’d bought for his girlfriend. We haven’t seen nor heard from Valentýn since.

Once a station boy, always a station boy.

Now there’s no one left but me and Vasile. BB’s in Romania. I’ve told him to bring me back another nice RO boy. Can’t have too many of them.