Exhale: a swirling cone of sicky-sweet ganja smoke, streaming from between Hiro's pursed lips. He idly scratches at the nape of his neck, sniffs once at Keene's comment, and promptly settles into 'ignore Keene's rant' mode. Instead, he heads over to examine the contents of Pobble's cardboard box, sticking first his nose, and then an arm into the thing's depths.