The traffic lights have been green for some time, yet we are not moving anywhere. It’s rush hour in Auckland and it’s just about to rain. Ahead of me in the queue of cars is a late-model BMW with a driver who appears to be getting agitated. Like most of the cars around me, the BMW contains only one occupant. Through the rear window, I can see hand gestures and head shaking all going on in the silent vacuum of the leather-upholstered interior.
For a minute, I figure the driver is talking on her hands-free phone – until she opens the car door. Out of the silence of the leather upholstered interior pours a ranting torrent of abuse. There is no phone; it is
