"Oh Jesus Christ! What was THAT?!" I interrupt my new friend Aiden for the sixth time in one 15-minute walk along rue Sherbrooke. I've been desperately trying to follow our conversation, but every few minutes I'm wildly distracted by the worst driving maneuvers I've ever had the misfortune of witnessing. Welcome to Montreal. Driving here is an exercise in desperation and treachery, with foolhardy speeding as common as the stop signs people barely acknowledge on their way through the suburbs. It's expensive and time-consuming to own a car, but somehow the worst drivers in the world are able to afford and maintain their own vehicle in this public transit-powered city.