"A.I. could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this neighbourhood before. There could be A.I. anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his bare deflated moobs. "I HATE 8 y/o's w/ Internet Access" he thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated his entire car, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of black children w/ a chromebook producing art better than anything he's made in his entire life. "With your mother's car and laundered trust fund money, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.