In A Waymo

The doors automatically lock as we settle into the Waymo self-driving car riding to the restaurant from the hotel. It’s strange riding without a driver. The Waymo jolts to a stop in the middle of the street; its computers seem confused by the police cruisers. Heavily armed cops bang on the windows yelling, open for a drug search. Not knowing how to unlock the doors and looking around, there’s a black bag on the floorboard from the last passenger. There was no driver to remove it before we got in. Gasping awake, I throw the bedside lamp at the window.

From Guest Contributor Michael C. Roberts