Mark had said something similar, if taken to an even further extreme--and Kira doesn't know what to do with it any more than he knows what to do with anything else. In a way, he's in the same mode he's been in since the virus hit Manhattan: just stay alive. Just stay something like sane. He starts to open drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, taking a kind of stock while Bodhi fusses.

"Where did we get all this stuff," he asks, basic kitchen implements and relatively nice plates tallied up in his head with the piles in the other room. "Mark found me with nothing but the clothes on my back."