Peggy: Why didn’t you tell me you had a family? Your father’s nice.
Ginsberg: He’s not my real father. People don’t understand.
Peggy: Are you adopted?
Ginsberg: Actually, I’m from Mars. It’s fine if you don’t believe me, but that’s where I’m from. I’m a full blooded Martian. Don’t worry, there’s no plot to take over Earth. We’re just displaced.
Ginsberg: I can tell you don’t believe me. That’s okay. We’re a big secret; they even tried to hide it from me. That man—my father—told me a story I was born in a concentration camp, but you know that’s impossible. And I never met my mother because she supposedly died there. That’s convenient. Next thing I know Morris there finds me in a Swedish orphanage. I was five. I remember it.
Peggy: That’s incredible.
Ginsberg: Yeah. And then I got this one communication, a simple order: “stay where you are.”
Peggy: Are there others like you?
Ginsberg: I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find any.