Ned's smile reflects Ginsberg's, and no explanation was necessary, but he finds Ginsberg's desire to provide one rather charming. "I like that you're excited, and I like that you aren't pretending you're not. Playing it cool is overrated, if you ask me. I've never seen the appeal. Why act like you're too good to be happy about the things that make you happy? Plus, if you acted like you didn't care one way or another, I'd think you didn't care one way or another, and I'd get all nervous and self-doubting and neurotic." He amends, "More neurotic."

So, yes, he likes that Ginsberg isn't cool. Because he's not cool, and the pretense of coolness is intimidating and off-putting to him. And Ginsberg is anything but those two things.

He takes a particular satisfaction in locking the door to his apartment the moment they are inside. With someone else, he knows that might seem creepy or too forward, but he thinks Ginsberg will understand his eagerness to do it. He's locking out all the bad parts of the outside world; the belligerent men who would rather use their fists than listen, the paintings of horrific hellish scenes, the intangible but oppressive possibility of being seen. With the way it sounds like his home life is, and even his work, Ned thinks Ginsberg can appreciate the importance of privacy.