No idea. It's been a while since I've had to deal with seasonal anything. Minus allergies. What's a hipster?

[John glances up at the floating sprig glowing obnoxiously orange just a few feet over their heads.

He jumps up, trying to catch it in his gloved fist on impulse, but no cigar. His hand passes right through. Worth a shot.

At least she's cute, and they kinda-sorta know each other. Not too familiar that he's worried about complicating a friendship, and not so strange that he think she'll call the cops on him if he suggests a solution to the problem at hand.]

So. Do you wanna stand here for a while, or...? I'm good, either way.