"That's exactly what it all is," he says, nodding, glad that Ned seems to get it. "It's a cheap way of inducing nostalgia, and then directing peoples' attention towards some product that can give them a simulacrum of the experience they think they had as kids, that they're desperate to get back. Mostly because adults are so unhappy that they're willing to do just about anything to regain the experiences they feel like they had as kids, but the truth is that even if they did have a sense of wonder and innocence when they were children -- which most people didn't have as much as they think they do -- they'll never get it back. And I guess that's why I prefer the darker ads. No pretending there, or at least, not in the same way. We're still trying to sell shit people don't need."

It does seem like he's feeling better. His talking is still quick, but his breathing has slowed down to a more reasonable rate -- part of that's down to being this close to Ned, to breathing in his smell and leaning against his shoulder and absorbing his calm -- but part of that's being able to talk about this without fear of judgement. He hasn't had that opportunity in far too long.

"So we should probably get out of this closet soon, right? I mean, Peggy and Bob are probably wondering what we're doing in here, and if I don't come out soon, they'll probably think I murdered you on my obviously psychotic, panicked, poetry-spouting rampage. You missed that. The poetry, I mean. I thought it would be a good way to calm down, but I guess it just sounded nuts."