The vine curls freely around the edge of the side window. I tilt the fingers on my right hand excluding my thumb, ever so slightly upwards. Immediately, the vine races towards the windshield. I brush my fingers on an imaginary drum to slow the vine down. Once it calms, I put an arm beneath my head and watch. It's quite interesting to watch actually, the vine turning a vivid green and tracing the border of the windshield with a calming slowness. I observe the vine curling just outside the windshield. If it weren't for the glass, the vine would be brushing my sneakers. My feet are propped up and crossed at the ankles as I lounge in the front passenger seat. I've dallied with the seat so that I'm only slightly sitting, mostly on my back. I flick my pointer and middle finger together to make the vine twist, before circling my wrist to make it unravel. I know I shouldn't be toying with plants in the parking lot, but there's no one here - so it shouldn't matter. Sadly, as if on cue, a bright red car pulls up to my right. I startle for a second, but I'm good at composing myself so I do so quickly. I leave my feet where they are but my fingers trace along my left leg, signaling the vine to return. It obeys and inches back so slowly, if I hadn't been inches away, and staring directly at it, I wouldn't have noticed. Satisfied, I do a quick one - over of the red car driver on my right.