It was what his parents said used to be called a Prom. They’d go off into a reverie, telling boring stories about who they’d danced with, that kiss , the rivalries for the best date. It was alright for them. Everyone had hired a limo. That was status. But now it was different and he couldn’t get them to understand. “You can have the best Robo,” they said. “What’s the problem?” They didn’t get it. What sort of impact would he have, what chance of getting a date when he knew that Steve would turn up in his own car. Driving!