First, it was an automated Studebaker Transtar Deluxe. Brian had never seen a two-tone version before. Its owner had taken poor care of it. The chromium was tarnished and there were dings all over the pylon fenders. Not surprising. City residents loathed smarty cargo vehicles. They caused terrible traffic slowdowns since they never exceeded the speed limit, let alone drove aggressively. In this city, lawful driving was just plain unnatural. And because there were no human operators to scream at, drivers vented their frustration by chucking bottles and trash at the Sunday drive-bots. Also strange was that the Transtar would arrive at Chambers and North End Avenue this early in the morning… five-thirty, when the Blister glowed pink and the vendor stands were curling back their morphinium carapaces. But Brian was no expert on the church delivery schedules, so he just kept an eye out. It was freezing in the dawn light. He missed his union-suit, which had maintained his body temp at a perfect 96.8.
