They’re building more apartments. Ugly ones. 184 of them. With only sixty parking spots. Who approves such lopsided lapses in judgement? On the other hand, Parking spots may soon be obsolete. When the mad march of manly progress Brings a silent swarm of slave chauffeurs. But what about me? Am I ready to give it up? The freedom to just drive? The speed and the control? All my life I’ve lived in the knowing That I’m more likely to die Driving to the airport Than from the plane going down. It never gave me pause. The risk being less than the reward. And the journey made a hint more alive For a wild one like me. Alas! Oh well! I guess I’ll have to now. Let’s resort to new drugs! Perhaps more potent pills. For we’ll soon be plum out of perfect places to park.