Eine Erzählung von Michael Gartner von 2006:
My father never drove a car.
Well, that’s not quite right.
I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.
„In those days,“ he told me when he was in his 90s, „to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it.“
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