"Don't tempt me, Hal. You might wake up with corn rows," she threatened. "All I need is a comb." Jen twirled her fingers while a construct of a fine-tooth comb manifested in her hand, she pointed it at him. "How did you know I'm in the market for a new car?" Not really. Jen had a car, granted a beat up crappy one that was older than her, that she drove here from Wisconsin when she moved, that she kept in storage and only used rarely. But it was metallic mint green and she loved it. In the meantime a glass of whiskey was thrust in that hand and the construct disappeared in a mist.
"Sure," she agreed amicably. "But can we sit outside? Its really nice outside right now," she informed him.