Ned opens the door to greet him with a wan smile. He's paler than usual, but there are no other outward signs of distress. Nothing except perhaps a shift in body language, an increased tension, a stiffness to his movements that gives him away.

He's been hiding in his apartment since he closed The Pie Hole, doing his best to avoid the unavoidable festivities. There are other apartments in the building with decorations on their doors, jack-o'-lanterns, the whole nine yards. Ned's own door is unadorned, but he knows he'll get a few knocks regardless. He's never quite mustered the foresight to make himself some kind of sign with a politer version of fuck off, kids written on it.

"Thanks for coming," he says, shuts the door behind Ginsberg rather abruptly when he sees a family heading up the stairs, with a whole small troupe of costumed children.