Tesla. There are more Teslas driving around. I’ve even seen one yellow cab Tesla, an alarming object.
I still glare at Tesla drivers. I doubt my glare has anything to do with their facial expressions, but Tesla drivers do not look happy. They seem grim, beset. Guilty.
And here’s a possible bright note: I have noticed a small number of parked Teslas missing the insignia. It isn’t anywhere on the car, not on the nose, not on the ass. Nowhere. No mention of Tesla at all on those cars seeking anonymity. Could it be shame? Fear?
Whatever.
Today, I saw a marvelously different sleek black car on Waverly Place, next to Washington Square Park. It was a car I did not recognize. It had a substance to it beyond anything I’ve felt standing near a car, not even a Maserati. It had a cool majesty, a calm demeanor. Seemed to be saying something to me. Whispering, in another language. I leaned toward the unsplashy insignia and…oh boy.
This is a Bentley, a Flying Spur, I believe.
Fuck you, Elon. You are less than nothing.