Tony and I were raised Catholic. Him more so than me.

He's one of the few people I've seen struggle with faith and the implications of it in his life. He really took it to heart. It confused him. But he indeed had faith. At Lent he always gave something up. One year he dragged me into a non-swearing stint. Another year it was no alcohol. That was a shocker. A couple weeks into his self-inflicted prohibition, Tony felt defeated. We planned a celebratory Waking of the Damned party.

Tony and I were the two odd guys on our floor. We did things to get reactions from people. People laughed at us, if not with us. More often than not it'd be a private audience, Tony and I the only ones laughing. We rarely took each other seriously. Even in serious moments, we joked.

We were talking at the door of our room, the night of Tony breaking Lent to drink with the heathens. During the conversation, I'd absentmindedly drilled a hole through the door with a screwdriver. Tony thought this was a gas. Don't ask me why. I never said we were "normal." We were laughing at the fact that we had a peephole now.

We were looking back and forth through it when I said, "Hey – this is a protection hole! Stand back! You back? Good...."