[He's a little consumed with your miraculous green helmet of wonder to notice you're addressing him. Sorry, Mori. He proceeds to go after the helmet until his nose bumps against an oddly-placed finger, smearing white greasepaint across it. He honks in surprise.]

Naw, my brother, it's all motherfuckin' chill, see? This motherfucker just want to be at gettin' his examine on all about that miracle on your lugbone! You feel me, dogg?

[His gaze shifts guiltily to the squashed architecture beneath his ratty, purple sneakers. Untied laces hang haphazardly around his ankles and drape over the newly demolished area. This elicits another honk out of him, this one more sheepish in tone.]