The last London cabby hasn't retired. Every day he gets in his car and moves purposefully through the city. Nobody hails him anymore --- it's greedy, cheap self-driving cars all around --- but that's not the point. He's been a cabby for sixty years, and he'll be a cabby to the last one.
At night the car takes him back to the retirement home. His doctor is pleased; he's as safe in the car as he'd be anywhere else, and the illusion of driving makes him the happiest guest in the senility ward.