Well, this is interesting. Ned isn't backing away from him in horror at his rambling, or attempting to make polite but meaningless and stilted conversation. No, he's actually responding with what sound like genuine thoughts, the kind of thoughts that aren't necessarily run past a filter before being blurted out. Ginsberg doesn't find many kindred spirits -- the ones he does find, he's inclined to grab onto with both hands and hold onto tightly. Maybe not physically. Grabbing Ned by the apron is probably a bad idea, and he's usually able to resist being quite that impulsive. Mentally, though, he's elated.

"I'm glad I could provide you the requisite drama to keep your job interesting. I mean, if I hadn't been here, you'd've had to settle for the guys that're over there discussing the election, and they're not going to be throwing any pie, they'll just be throwing dirty looks. Or if you'd've gotten a little luckier, you might have had a customer who wasn't satisfied with anything, and kept sending stuff back, but then that'd be dragging you directly into the drama, and maybe you prefer to be a casual observer. On the other hand, you're kind of mired in my drama now, since you helped me get the lemon meringue pie off my face, so maybe I should apologize for that."

Or maybe he should just shut up. Now he's really rambling.. "Jesus Christ, sorry, I sound like a lunatic."