"If you had a job you wouldn't have to stay one place so long."
"No use being anyplace if I have to leave my car."
She pursed her lips. Inside the car she could see seats, straps, a
wheel. It was incomprehensible that he strapped himself in and hurtled
through the streets. "It's a stupid thing to do," she said. "You'll get
killed."
"No," he said.
"If you hit something you will. I've heard those atrocity stories.
There were more people killed in automobiles from--"
"Nothing to hit," he said.
She flung out her arms. "Buildings! Poles!" His lack of response
offended her.
"No need to hit them."
"I've seen the films!" She had seen the crumpled metal, the severed
limbs, the spreading blood.
"Driver error. No drivers left. Too expensive on government allowance."
"No one stupid enough left, you mean!" But it was stupid to glare when
he wouldn't frown. "Okay, what's it feel like?" she demanded.
He lifted his shoulders and dropped them.
"It must feel some way." She peered down into the machine, trying to
imagine herself hurtling in it. "You fly an airplane too," she accused.
He nodded.
"I bet it feels just like gridding. And it takes longer."
"Gridding." He snorted, mildly. "There's no sensation at all to
gridding."
"Then how does it feel to fly?" she prodded.