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I remember the first time I pulled out of my driveway in my grandparents' Nissan Ultimate or Centra. I just remember getting in a car that smells like my grandparents, with both my parents standing on the lawn, so petrified. That was my car up until I was 18.

My main form of transportation at that time was a bicycle, because bicycles could move though the crowd.

When I was 15, my parents left town for a month. They hid the keys to the car, but I found them. That month, I drove my stepdad's Thunderbird Super Coupe into Manhattan every day, and I would crank Cypress Hill as I flew around the city, racing the taxis.

When my mother and I walked to the grocery store, men would circle the block in cars. It was very, very scary, especially as a young boy. Very predatory - a hunt.

When I was four, I just wanted to drive, I collected toy cars. Where does that sort of thing come from? In hindsight you go, 'Oh, liked it because of this.' Maybe it's just the wheel.

In the trunk of her car, my mother used to keep a collapsible easel, a clutch of brushes, a little wooden case stocked with tubes of paint, and, tucked into the spare-tire well, one of my father's old, tobacco-stained shirts, for a smock.

Tires were so bald on the truck that the air was showin' through, and I had to drive fifty miles an hour all the way out there, because the vibration was so bad.

We're going to look back and wonder why we had to micro-control our cars.