Ned likes listening to Ginsberg telling stories about himself as a kid. It's a way to get to know more about him and, quite frankly, they're heartwarming. He has a half-formed picture of it in his mind, even though he hasn't any idea what Ginsberg's father looks like - the two of them staring at baffling works of non-representational art, going to see the dinosaurs afterwards. Ginsberg as a small child, with his overactive imagination, daydreaming of pteranodons.

(It hasn't escaped Ned's notice that Ginsberg's never mentions having a mother, but he's hardly the person to ask about that. The absence of mention tells him plenty, if not the exact details.)

"You can regale your coworkers with tales of valor," Ned suggests, bringing two bags of the peas to the counter and paying for them while the young woman gives the two of them a knowing look.

As they walk back out to the street Ned admits, with more than a touch of reluctance and embarrassment, "You know, you're going to think I'm a complete philistine, but I'm not sure I've ever been to an actual art museum." He probably would be blushing now, were it not for the bag of frozen peas that he's pressing to the center of his face. "I've seen famous paintings in books and all that, but never..." he trails off, with a shrug.