"I'm from Michigan; I'm impossible to freeze." Not strictly true, of course, but he's used to it being a lot colder than it is in New York. One of the most pervasive memories he has of his boarding school is of the cold, how the radiators barely seemed to make a dent in the chill, how it radiated from the walls and the outdated windows. So a brisk walk in New York November, wrapped up in a thick coat, isn't going to daunt him.

He's gotten used to this; to the self-doubt and self-questioning which are like a reflex for Ginsberg. After his history with dating and romance in general, Ned understands the drive behind it. It doesn't tax his patience, merely provokes a small smile. "I'm fine with aimless wandering."

It's a shame that he can't, amidst that wandering, reach over and loop his arm in Ginsberg's, or else take his hand. Ned thinks how nice it would be to do this sometime somewhere isolated; drive up to a park or scenic place sometime and walk together alone, hand in hand, where no one might see them. Maybe in the spring.

(He's started letting himself think like this, vague plans for a vague future in which Ginsberg is still around. He can't help it. Against all odds, everything has gone so well. There have been no fights, no disasters, no horrible realizations or betrayals.)