"You're going to get bored after a week. You always do. Remember yoga?"
"I am one with the earth. I see nature's beauty untainted by the eyes of a consumer. I don't get bored," it replies tersely.
"Zumba? New Age? Feng shui? Your room was a tip after that one..."
It ignores you. "I feel the sun and the moon and the stars and-"
"You're right. You won't even last a week. Not unless somebody wheels a TV out here."
"Don't patronise me, Mike," the bush snaps. "I'm a grown adult and I can make my own decisions."
"And I notice you decided to plant yourself where they wanted to put a patio," you smile. "You're not doing this for any reason other than to piss off mum and dad. Well it's working; you're going to give mum a heart attack. How's that for pacifism?"
The bush makes no response. After a few minutes pass you begin to feel the cold, and consider heading back inside. You glance up at the darkening sky. "Looks like a storm," you point out hopefully.
"The rain is a thousand ecstasies on my body," the bush mumbles miserably.
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