Hiro slouches in his seat. This is not indicative of boredom, or uneasiness, or intoxication -- part of what defines 'Hiro' as 'Hiro' is simply that he slouches. An ashtray balances precariously on his chair's left arm, full of cigarette butts and ash and roaches and bottlecaps, overflowing to the critical mass point, teetering on the brink of a mess Daisy will have to clean up, because it's Daisy's job and Hiro is Friday and Hiro does whatever he damn well pleases, thank you very much.