tomorrow rides on calculators
Future cars still don’t fly, not sorry to say. They drive themselves. Magic of magnets. There’s freedom in that and safer that way.
We endured a least denominator of drivers, in bullet trucks and boat-size Buicks, unevenly heeding their side of a who-cares line.
The Future Matured prefers human hands off. Go robo-taxi with a call to the local depot. No need of storage to park the wheeled cage.
What’s also less is a shock of payments, or insurance or the chance of a ticket, and penny-electric to run on an asthmatic planet.
Instead, float in scenic, conversational focus. A hovering zoom-room hosts virtual delights. They don’t fly, but you’ll hardly notice.
