Tendrils
Vines grow tendrils to pull themselves up to the sunlight. Tendrils grow unruly in imperfect spirals. They latch on to anything that seems stronger - a tree trunk or piece of rusted metal - and wrap themselves around in a tender stranglehold, like a child clutching her daddy's neck while riding piggyback. Sometimes they grab onto their own branches. Many tendrils go nowhere. Groping, scrawny, out of place, and useless, they can become fascinating if you stare at them long enough. Or are stoned.
Most of us extend tendrils to other people. Sometimes we connect; sometimes we dangle. Our motives are good and bad and mixed. So, too, are the people to whom we reach out. We may want to help someone, or we may be manipulating them. They may be manipulating us with no truly nefarious motive.
“This round's on the house, pally.”
Wow, I'd say to myself, this bartender really likes me. And before I'd know it, I was blotto.