I mourn the cars that I have sold, and the sad ones on craigslist I would rescue, if only the stupid powerball would just cooperate.

I mourn the dead brands, like Pontiac, who made things that were stupidly awesome, and the dead companies that once made beautiful things, like Studebaker, and Packard, and Cord.

I mourn the stripper model, the affordable car, the simple car, the car that didn’t contain more steel beams than a skyscraper, and a dozen electronic nannies.

And I mourn the freedom of the open road, which I fear has one, two generations, tops, before the robots take over.