He nods, happy for something to do that isn't talking. The task doesn't faze him much. He grew up in the sewers, after all. And it makes him feel useful to do the jobs no one wants to, because someone's got to do it. Might as well be him.

He ducks for the can and tries not to look inside it, but his beak is still wrinkled in disgust as he heads for the bathroom to go rinse it in the tub.

At this point, distractions of any kind are welcome ones. So he takes his time, lets the water run, because he can brood about the past on his own time. All this storytelling is doing is digging up old ghosts that are better left dead and buried.