I’ll never forget that first solo drive. I was sixteen and a half and had miraculously received my license that morning despite leaving the emergency brake on for the majority of my road test. I took my dad’s white Geo Metro for a spin around Viera Park, glanced over at the empty passenger seat, and rejoiced in this benchmark of independence that every young child dreams about from the moment they handle their first matchbox car.
Thirteen years later I get that same feeling looking over at all the vehicles on New York City streets, but this time I am elated that none of them are mine. Any potentially deflated tires, leaky gas tanks, disintegrating brake pads, feverish radiators, geriatric clutches, and electrically-challenged taillights; replaced now by my MTA MetroCard.
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