"None of us are going to hell, no matter what we do. Because hell's right here, you know? We're in it. I think people made up hell to feel like there could be somewhere worse than the place we are, but there isn't. There's just right here, right now, and all we can do is try to deal with the fact that shit happens, and most of it isn't fair."

He knows that he's too worked up, and he actively tries to calm down as they step into the next room. The landscapes are good, if a little boring -- they provide a calming backdrop to the emotions that are raging inside of him. He's never been good at sitting down and shutting up, and he's not good at it here, either, especially not when Ned's proven to be such a nonjudgemental listener.

The hand on the small of his back doesn't hurt, either, and he tosses a grateful smile at Ned, because he's always found comfort in physical contact, always craved it, and never quite had enough of it from people he really wants it from. The fact that Ned's willing to give it is nothing short of a miracle, if he believed in miracles. "Anyway," he says, back to his usual, relatively sunny self, "You probably think I'm crazy for hating those paintings so much, and I guess on an aesthetic level I kind of appreciate them, because it must take a lot of talent to paint something like that, but I wish they'd use their talent on something like this. Landscapes. That can't offend anyone, right?"