It was a rather random statement, which was not entirely out of the ordinary. Naruto didn't tend to stop talking very often if he was still capable of using his mouth so when others weren't around - or not listening, as the case might've been - he usually conversed with himself. It was bothersome, but he didn't really mind; didn't think about it too much, as it were.
Still, he did smell like pot. He'd started to really notice now that he didn't spend the majority of his life inhaling it. Sakura's restraining him had eventually worked him out of his headache and bad attitude about the whole thing. Having reassessed it, he'd started to remember just how much the highs had been waning. It wasn't really that fun anymore - he just kind of...you know, did it. That wasn't to say he was glad to be rid of it - he wasn't - but he wasn't that unhappy.
He looked around himself, blowing the blonde out of his face absent-mindedly. Haku lived in a part of town that he didn't often venture into, for lack of motivation. It wasn't run down, but it was no happy peppy suburb of a place, either. Kind of a ghetto without being too dirty, not too far from the living conditions the Uzumaki had become accustomed to. It was in a completely different part of Konoha, though, kind of far away from everything that might've caused a hubbub without being outrageously so.
He found the apartment building and brushed past a man who sat outside (who somewhat resembedled a crocodilian sort of creature), and began his walk up the stairs. Third floor, ninth door down, he walked. He yawned into his hand, brushed himself off, cursed, and then proceeded to rap on the wood once before yelling through it.