I still think about this conversation I had with my aunt not long after I got my driver’s license. I must’ve been 16 or 17, excited to drive to whatever restaurant we ate at that afternoon. And if I’m being honest, I don’t remember much about that day or the conversation itself, just the one thing she told me about cars: “Those things are death machines.” Her words found new meaning as I drove around Washington, D.C. in January, listening to self-proclaimed generals rap about sedans like they