Ned sees how intense Ginsberg's reaction is - how could he miss it really? - and glances back at the picture in mild bemusement. It hadn't occurred to him, that it might be disturbing to someone. He knows that in some ways, he is desensitized to violence. Not the kind of violence that they'd encountered earlier, with fists flying and the active danger of being hurt. But a different kind: to its fictional incarnations, or what it leaves behind.

"It is pretty sick," he agrees, joins Ginsberg in walking away from the painting and towards the exit of the room, to one that contains landscapes. Lovely, intricate, calm landscapes. Ned feels a touch guilty, seeing how bothered Ginsberg is, wants to make him feel more normal for reacting so extremely.

"You're right though. About the kids and nightmares and all. I used to have nightmares about going to hell. All the time. But then I realized it was all scare tactics and bullshit made up by a bunch of desperate people with sick imaginations trying to pretend they got to decide what was right and what was wrong, and it didn't frighten me so much."

He knows they are in public, knows he has to limit any contact between the two of them, but there's no one else in the room, so he sets his hand against the small of Ginsberg's back, just for a few seconds, to steady him, to reassure him, and to apologize for drawing his attention to it in the first place.