"Brooklyn." She swung a leg over and settled onto the flat seat. The frame adjusted to her weight while the motor powered up with a chirp. She squealed down the corkscrew ramp and onto clattering streets far busier than they looked from the Hopper. She realized it was Saturday, the young and foolish testing their cool. The only vehicles moving were ancient black-glass lozenges that tossed her reflection back, drivers lounging inside, not trusting autonomous systems. It was the pedestrians who strutted carefree, peacocks looking for trouble. She eyeballed each one as she rolled past.