Tom looks pained as he sings, tossing his head back and offering a sick smile to the heavens as he plays, eyes wound shut. As if he’s accepting the low-belly ache, the sorrow, the savage need coursing through him that he just cannot quell. And I know that I need him. Physically, religiously, unspeakably. A neutering couldn’t help me at this point—I need Tom Halloran.
