There's A New Gun In Town

I'm 26. Niah is three.

"Hey Niah, do you ever just stare at the windmills and contemplate your existence?"

I'm in the front passenger seat, Niah is in her car seat, and I don't look back for her response.

"Um... no. I put down the window."

I hear the whir of the rear window. The growing rush of wind let's me down slowly. You win, Niah—this time.