It had become impossible to drive any distance without being stopped.
It was impossible to drive any distance from Manhattan and not be confronted with ominous, hulking reminders of psychiatric distress: the enormous complex across the Triborough Bridge, on Wards Island; Sagamore and Pilgrim Hospitals, on Long Island; Creedmoor, in Queens.
It is virtually impossible to drive by a field in Cameroon without seeing a group of boys kicking something around — fruit, rolled-up wads of cotton, sometimes an actual ball.
Endurance racing is now so fierce that no car raced to win could ever be considered a true production model; even the most extravagant billionaire CEO would find it impossible to drive such a vehicle in traffic, let alone climb aboard one in a suit and necktie.
Residents in La Presa told me the school bus doesn't enter the community after hard rains and when the roads are blocked, it's impossible to drive to a well to retrieve water.
Stretches of emptiness still exist, but it's impossible to drive more than a few hours without coming upon a town ripe with three-star hotels, satellite TV and restaurants that accept credit cards.
After all, it is almost impossible to drive more than a couple of miles without seeing a McDonald's and the company famously serves millions daily.
Still, whether the show really should go on when torrential rain makes it nearly impossible to drive cars around a flooded track — let alone race them at speeds up 300 kilometers, or more than 185 miles, per hour — is another story.
