"It was the first autumn after the whole thing started," Ned answers, a touch defensively, "I'd been jumping in leaf piles for nine years without it being a problem. I didn't think." But the excuses sound weak even to his own ears. Ned deserves that scorn of Charlie's, and he knows it. He's certainly reproached himself in similar (and much harsher) terms ever since. Mistakes aren't a thing that he's allowed to make. Not when the consequences can be (and have been) so much worse than one lost friend.

"You're right, though. I did say I was a bit of an idiot," he says. Thinks privately that he still is. After all, he's making the decision to keep drinking, sliding his shot-glass over towards Charlie to try some of the bubblegum vodka, because why not? It's hard to imagine it being worse than the cherry shit.

As for the booze situation, Ned merely shrugs. He's less worried about that than he is about the food supply, "Maybe we'll have to start making our own. You know how to do that?"