Walking through town on my way to the library, familiarity strikes. Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhzzzzzzzzz! A discernible sound. A sound unlike no other. The pitchy whir of a remote-controlled car. Under whose behest? A grown up. His wife walked several paces ahead, pushing the baby, he lagged behind exercising control of his own. Pushing away adulthood? Preparing the car for the baby’s inheritance? There’s no reason to know really. But this is the kind of moment where I realize something I miss. Like a driveway. It hadn’t really occurred to me that children (and grown ups) across the globe would have to play with remote-controlled cars on the street. (Yes, this is obvious but not one of those things I’ve ever given much thought.) That’s always been what a driveway was good for.
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