He knew it was cliched and pointless, but the 2am air beckoned him. Putting his arm out the car window he played with the passing wind, ducking and weaving, in and out on top of invisible landscapes. He twitched his fingers as they began to numb with the cool wind billowing against it and as his arm began to tire. Looking up at the cloud night sky he took his attention away from his arm for a moment or two. The moon was losing at hide and seek, sitting quite proudly within a mass of colossal clouds, it's glow giving a more subtle sparkle to the night's moisture compared to the yellowing streetlights.
"Hey Craig, pull ya hand in will ya? ya doof" Pete said from the drivers seat (as he was driving).
Craig looked over to Pete slightly surprised as if it was strange for another person to be present, let alone driving the car, it was meant to be just him and the night. His arm still hung out the window, more limp than playful, tapping against the side of the door lightly instead of dramatically outstretched as it was earlier. Pete didn't say anything more, leaving the radio's static humming and the hissing wind to sing a challenging duet in Craig's ears. He looked up at the moon again to see that it had become somewhat humble and shrouded itself in clouds, detailing the puff and fluff of the cloud in front. Yawning, he pulling his arm back into the car and wound up the window. He looked down at his fingers and noticed they were a purple-blue with a couple of grazes on the knuckles, but he couldn't feel anything. A small smile crept across his face as he failed to remember what he had knocked it against. Tucking it under his armpit to get the circulation happening once more he thought of all the poetic comparisons he could draw to it, how his hand was like his heart, how his hand was like his head, how his hand was like a habit.


15 turtles make a habit.