"Copywriter, actually," he responds, setting his pen down on the table and looking up at Ned as soon as he shows up. The time's gone by pretty quickly, and he's eaten all of the pie that had been in front of him, and drawn on quite a towering stack of napkins. "For an ad agency. Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Pryce-Cutler-Gleason-Chaough, and I only say the name of it so that you can appreciate how ridiculously long and unwieldy it is, and not as some kind of bizarre opportunity to brag about working for a prestigious agency. They're changing the name, though, thankfully. So that I don't have to gasp for air every time I tell someone where I work."

It's a chronic habit, this tendency to over-share information. Ned had only asked him what he did for a living, not asked him about where he worked or the whole history of the name, but as always, Ginsberg had offered up more information than was strictly necessary. He hopes Ned doesn't find that habit particularly irritating, because it's unlikely to go away anytime soon.

"I'd ask you what you do, but obviously you're the pie guy, so it'd be pretty stupid to ask."