https://go.theregister.com/feed/www.theregister.com/2025/08/22/new_york_waymo_ratso_rizzo/
The streets were quiet. The traffic whirred, whispered along the streets. Even their doors were silent. An irate passenger could try to slam them but dampners slowed the anger to a silent seal. There were voices of course. Cyclists sang along to their playlists, the few pedestrians talked on their devices, Agents advised but all the noise was human. Children tried to get the traffic to sound an alarm by playing chicken or throwing their trackers into the road but the cars were ahead of them, their models predicting and preparing. There were no traffic jams, no symphony of horns.