If you ever took, literally, the marketing meanderings of automakers, you would be inclined to believe that every new car is a panacea, a cure-all for your life’s many woes. There are lane-departure warning systems if your neck is braced from your last rear-ender, there are voice-activated entertainment systems if you speak the tongue of robots, and there are oil life monitors if you can no longer remember how to open the hood. The soothing womb of a new car can assuage all of your troubles. Or can it? Or should it? Let us not veer too far off our intended course into the philosophical “should” element, and let us instead focus on the former: can any car act as an elixir to the noxious constructions of our contemporary conurbations? Or should we concede that marketing mavens are hysterical embellishers of the truth?