Ginsberg makes it sound so simple, to stop pretending and be comfortable in his skin. But Ned has already seen some of the qualifications to that narrative, the flashes of uncertainty and self-doubt in Ginsberg the night before, and this morning. It's not entirely possible, perhaps, for people like them to entirely own and accept who they are, give up the act and be happy and confident.

"It takes a lot of work to pass," he agrees, with the air of someone who does it on a daily basis, "but it takes a lot of bravery to decide not to."

Bravery that he doesn't currently have at the ready. He'll take the fear of being noticed - with its costumes and scripts and occasional despair - over the uncertainty of what might happen to him if he did start to own his freakishness. But he likes that Ginsberg doesn't. He's glad of it, and glad they met, and glad they are speaking like this. Glad enough that he caves into a moment of impulsiveness and leans across the small table, kissing Ginsberg quickly.

"Right," he says.