Someone Needs to Take Biden’s Keys
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My grandfather was a mortal threat behind the wheel of his Oldsmobile. In imperfect anticipation of yellow lights, he would stop unexpectedly at intersections. He drove 30 miles an hour on the freeway. One day his vision occluded, and he couldn’t see clearly into the distance. Yet he would still occasionally grab the keys, put my grandmother and her clutch of coupons
