This may be the stupidest thing I have ever read in The New Yorker. One of the most glorious things about my hometown is that you do not need a car to explore any part of it. Driving and parking a car in the city (especially Manhattan) is an unnecessary hassle. Cassidy may insist on pursuing the peculiar habit of driving his beloved Jaguar everywhere, but to think that anyone else in the city should give a damn about his habit, or his resentment of bikes, is laughable.

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