A Deliberate Tap

Consciousness arrived without ceremony. My vision sharpened on the beaded moisture clinging to the glass ahead, a suitably grim morning. My arms were suspended mid-air in an absurd pose of false alarm. Slowly, methodically, I lowered my right hand. The plastic below was cool and textured. I extended a single finger and tapped the blue emblem affixed beneath my perch. A faint, hollow click answered. Movement is entirely functional. I rested my palm flat against the ledge, remaining seated, observing the drizzle.