That answer reassures Ned; he doesn't think Ginsberg would lie to him, and the thought that he might have hurt the man - however belligerent and ignorant he was - in front of his wife and kids was making Ned's stomach churn. He's starting to calm down: the walking helps, as does Ginsberg's smile.

"The museum was fun while it lasted," Ned points out, with the air of helping him salvage what he can, "I mean, I was never under the impression that dinosaurs were small, but actually seeing the bones up close is kind of extraordinary." He doesn't know why, in his years of living in New York, he hasn't just gone and seen some of these wonderful things on his own. "Maybe... a different museum? There's more than one of them, right?"

They've reached the corner store now. When she sees Ned with his bloody face and hands, the young woman behind the counter points in the direction of the small bathroom in the back without needing to be asked. Ned says he'll be right back, disappears for a minute or two to clean himself up. When he emerges he's washed off most of the blood (though there are a couple flecks on the white cuff of his sleeve that he'll deal with later) and looks not all that much worse for wear.

"You're going to have a real shiner," Ned points out to Ginsberg, as he goes in search of frozen peas.