"From that moment on, I’ve been mindful of cars, as I am of any wild thing. I treat them as unpredictable, mesmerizing man-eaters. Now, at thirty-three, I hold car culture to be an ostentation of Americana, an aggressive, cocky, insecure announcement of masculinity. I’m not alone in this, but the piston-whipping phalluses set me on a particular edge because I’m a commuter-biker-walker here in Dallas, a rare thing, like an endangered bird. Here, cars prowl the streets, growling in revving ravenousness."