1970 Plymouth Satellite

When people stop driving cars and everyone gets around on small pods that join together to form segmented caterpillar chains, I hope to be driving a 1970 Plymouth Satellite, with its baleen grill sucking in clean, climate change-friendly air. 


I expect that this is what the future will look like, with monstrous, hyper-efficient non-private transportation systems rendering cars obsolete as a means of common transportation. As commuters get to work in the cluttered chambers of floating blimp busses, freed from the constrains of traffic or scheduling or timetables that still define mobility today, I will be driving a low-compression V8 with very few horsepower, insufficient brakes, and primitive suspension. The steering won’t be great.

Nearly all of the time it will be nothing but a big boat of a car, ponderous in its motions, but in fleeting, rare moments the V8 will roar and it will be my own Nascar.

The car will be like an alien, much too old and different to be a hoopty, just something incomprehensibly odd. It’s an ugly car, but it’s kind of charming, and I want to drive it in the future. I will be a slower person then, and I look forward to owning a needlessly big, slow car. Its gasoline will be like kerosene today. Hopefully my future Plymouth will be in this blue; it looks like a whale, and I like whales.

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