Gas cars are like steam locomotives

Last week, Grandpa fired up his 1998 V8 Mustang for the first time in months. The neighborhood shook. Birds evacuated. My Ring camera filed a noise complaint.

He peeled out of the driveway like it was 2003, grinning ear to ear, shouting “THIS is driving!”

Three miles later he coasted into the gas station on fumes, sweating, clutching a $97 receipt like it was a hospital bill.

Meanwhile my cousin rolled up silently in his new EV, plugged in for six minutes, paid $9, and vanished at light-speed without waking a single dog.

Grandpa stared at the pump, then at the empty space where the EV had been, then at his trembling credit card.

He looked like a steam-locomotive engineer watching the first bullet train blast past.

He hasn’t started the Mustang since.

Yesterday I found him in the garage… reading the EV owner’s manual with a flashlight and a cup of coffee, whispering, “Fine. The future wins. But I still hate how quiet it is.”

Welcome to the museum, old friend. The bullet train just left the station.