My grandfather took me to the drive-thru every Friday in 1994. The hiss of the pressure line always felt heavy. A dull metallic thud. Then a sucker rolled out of the drawer. We built entire pressurized pipe networks just to move paper slips five feet into the air. Now the terminal sits cracked and dry-rotted behind an empty strip mall. We traded physical velocity for smudge-covered touchscreens that never register your thumb.