“It’s very dangerous!” “I DON’T FUCKING CARE.” “Through the café car,” the old man wheezed. “There’s a ladder you can climb to get into the cab.” “Who’s driving it?” “I told you: No one is. It drives itself.” “Not anymore, it doesn’t.” “The Producer won’t let you. . . .” “I am the Producer.” The clerk smiled at him. “Now you’re catching on.”
