A poof of steam came off of his face as they walked outside. It was perfectly chilled. Hal huffed just to watch the steam come out as he wriggled the hood of his jacket over his head. "Last night?" He shrugged, unsure why this was a topic of intrigue. "I uh - I worked? Uhm... I know I woke up this morning with a bag of bread torn up on my chest." He chuckled. "Don't remember how that happened. But I think I wake up like that every morning." He scratched the back of his neck, unsure if he was answering her questions appropriately. "I'm not really sure how often it happens." When his mom was around, she kept track and tried to help him stay on track. After she died, nobody was looking out for him. Not even himself.