It's testament to the manners that come along with a certain socioeconomic strata that mean Gabriel has no idea how to say anything like 'it has been scary as goddamn shit, and also so fucking awesome,' because ...that sort of thing is just not done. His tone adopts a sort of stiff, grating politeness, struggling with the compulsion to adhere to some maxim like 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.'
"It's--people have been--very helpful," he manages, and seems pleased with himself for finding something both nice and true. "I live at the theater," he goes on, apparently going from point A to B via point ..........9, or something, to actually answer Freddy's questions. "With Mister Eiler. I wanted to stay there, it's--it would be easier, but I think--they call that immersion. Living in a dorm."
Therapy words. Hospital words, a topic on which he is not eager to stay, and so--burbling on, if not after a beat of obvious discomfort. "I don't really have anything, no, I'm--I was missing a book? It's uh, Michael Chabon, I don't know if you know him but he's very good. And a metronome."
Pause, followed up by a sudden rush of uh, fragments, and shoving his hand into his sunset-tinted bird's nest of hair to cover the chagrin I TOLD YOU that pulls at his mouth. "And something for--a friend. I don't--that one is hard."