[It's not normal laughter. It's the I've trained myself to laugh instead of cry laughter, unsteady and unhealthy.]

Well, that's what you call it when you get drunk and kiss someone like a whore isn't it? [He shakes his head, laughing, then uses his right hand to give the underside of his left forearm a sharp pinch. Focus. He pauses, breathing for a moment, laughter subsiding. He's not alone any more. Billy would be an unlikely choice for a figment of his imagination. Hopefully. When he continues on, his tone is much, much uglier, but calmer.] No, that's too kind. The proper word is catamite, and that's beside the point.