Hiro's eyes appear to be crossing. He stares up at the field of stars, blinking slowly, and slowly sinks backwards onto his elbows; exhaling in a long, narrow stream. "Zesty condiment, Pob my man," he congradulates the chemist, eyes rolling backwards to fix on a half-eclipsed approximation of Abel's eyes and forehead. "From the bay," he declares, extending a fist towards Abel; presumably to be thumped. "My -man-."