Tom's favorite away message is "For Madmen Only". It's a line from one of my favorite books, and when you see this message, you can count on seeing us together the next day. Today is no different- by 6 AM we're meandering a familiar route through a damp cold dawn, looking as tired and disheveled as if we just woke up, except for the loud note of hysteria in our voices. We're constantly on the edge of madness, but last night was odd even for us. Not because we're best friends who hooked up, not because we stayed up all night to do it, not because Tom was in drag the entire time- that's normal. It's really the rope burns on the insides of his wrists that have us edgy. "I'll just say I got blackout drunk again," he shrugs. His drinking problem is no laughing matter, but so many of our problems aren't- what can we do but make fun of the whole damned mess? It's a gray but lovely day, so we swing our interlocked hands and laugh wildly, aware that observers will think we're a couple. We have no interest in dating, but that, like so many other things, can be our little secret.