"I know. It's a huge damn coincidence. He never leaves Brooklyn, except when he comes to visit me at the office -- and believe me, that's a whole other discussion entirely -- and the one day he decides to go somewhere else, we're there too? Ridiculous."

He peers around the edge of the shelf, looking out the window, eyes scanning the street to make sure his father isn't still out there, lurking, as though he could somehow detect the presence of his son and would be waiting to spring an attack on them the moment they stepped out of the store. It's not like he thinks his father would disapprove of him spending time with Ned, so long as his father didn't realize the intimacy of their relationship. On the contrary, he'd probably be glad that his son had some friends. On the other hand, he'd told his dad he was going on a date -- and he was, just not the kind his father likely imagined -- so there'd be a lot to explain if he saw the two of them together. His father already had suspicions about his sexuality. Better not to add to them.

"Yeah, he's gone," he says, turning back to Ned, looking worried now, because it's obvious that this place really is freaking Ned out, and not just in the colloquial sense. Dead animals don't exactly make Ginsberg feel warm and fuzzy inside, but they don't freak him out in the way they seem to freak Ned out. "We can get out of here. We'll just walk the opposite direction, okay?"

Because no way is he going to risk running into him again. He eyes the proprietor of the shop, offers him an apologetic little smile, and pushes open the door very cautiously, halfway expecting his dad to be standing outside, standing at the ready with big hugs and big questions. "Okay. C'mon. Coast's clear."