Just about everyone knows the first rule of interplanetary space driving on the BlueWay: when you own a five wheeled motorcycle you don’t need to worry about stoplights. Especially if you tote a triple barreled MaxiGun around on the back of your cycle. Then, the stoplights worry about you.
Common sense observation though that might be to most people, yet common sense is not – never has been, never will be – nearly as common as it should. I ask you: does it make any sense that my neighbor, Tony Hartley, who rides a bicycle – yes, literally a bicycle, a relic of the twenty-first century, barely glossed over with the veneer of a space-capacity G resistant cockpit bubble and a hypersonic pedal intensifier – does it make any sense that he should feel himself entitled to pedal on down across the intersection and cause me to come to a screeching halt? Red light or no red light, that is carrying matters too far! Fair exchange and no robbery, he says, and I can’t deny that he got me out of a pretty tight predicament, so maybe he has a right. But stopping at the stoplights is going to annoy me a lot longer, I can tell you!