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Google Glass: What You're Not Supposed to Do

There are certain things you won't be encouraged to do wearing one of these. Those are the things I did.

Published in the December 2013 issue

Google Glass may or may not transform the future. But one thing is beyond question: It elicits mighty strong reactions in the present.

The first week I got my tiny new face computer, I wore it to a barbecue and sat down at a table to eat pasta salad. "That is the most annoying thing in the world," snapped a mom of twins, pointing at my new gadget from across the table.

"I disagree," I responded.

"No, really. It is."

"One second," I said. I tapped the black frames with my finger to turn the device on. "Okay, Glass, Google 'What is the most annoying thing in the world?' "

In the miniscreen perched above my right eye, an article popped up. I clicked on it. I scrolled. She waited.

"All right, I have a list from The Daily Telegraph with the top hundred most annoying things. There's people who drive too close to you. Noisy eaters. Rude clerks. No Google Glass."

She remained unconvinced. Instead she yammered on about privacy invasion, the failure to embrace real life, the evils of distraction, the usual.

Yet, earlier that same day, several strangers had approached me — some timid, some nearly giddy — as if I were a minor celebrity, perhaps a judge on a cable food show. "Are they as awesome as people say?" "Where can I get the Google Goggles?" "Mind if I try them on?" (For all the fears of privacy advocates, it was mostly my privacy that was invaded.)

As with cilantro and Hillary Clinton, there's not a lot of middle ground. Google Glass — which will be released for sale to the public sometime in 2014 — has become the flash point in the war between tech-fearing, Jonathan-Franzen-admiring, our-kids-should-play-with-wooden-blocks types and the self-quantifying, singularity-loving, Cloud-computing-will-save-the-world evangelists.

The author in basic training at Google in New York.

After much cajoling, and my solemn pledge to get contact lenses, Google sold me an early prototype for $1,500. I would be one of eight thousand "Explorers" — a group of engineers, scientists, artists, and journalists allowed to test it out. At the Glass office in New York (huge windows, free tea sandwiches), I got a crash course on how to connect my Glass to the Internet, take video, snap a photo, get directions, search for nearby Taco Bells, return e-mails, make calls, and watch CNN — all without the daunting effort of reaching into my pocket for my smartphone. I was also advised about what I should definitely not do.

So that's what I would do. My mission: I would push Glass to its limits to give me a glimpse of the real-life utopia and/or dystopia that awaits.

OPERATION: LITERATURE

The first few days are a mix of exhilaration and frustration. One minute I'm marveling, "Holy crap, this street map moves when I turn my head!" The next I'm having heated arguments with Glass's voice-recognition feature: "CNN. Not Rihanna. CNN! CNN!" That's not to mention the added challenge of friends who sneak up behind me and shout inappropriate Google searches to clog my browser's history. "Okay, Glass, Google 'NAMBLA membership application'!" (The phrase "Okay, Glass" is the device's required verbal ignition key.)

The tiny screen (roughly three quarters of an inch by half an inch) takes some getting used to. For a while, I was squinting half the day, but I've now learned to adjust. You have to point your eyeballs up and to the right, so you spend a lot of time looking as if you're trying to do long division in your head.

Glass is designed to display short snippets of text: quick e-mails such as "See you at Sbarro at 10:00." Or CNN headline updates, like LIZARD SUSPECTED OF EATING NEIGHBOR'S CAT (which I was helpfully informed of at the doctor's office).

As the Google publicist told me, Glass is not meant for poring over two-thousand-word articles.

Yet what's the harm in trying? In fact, why not use my Glass to read something even more substantial, like Moby-Dick ? Imagine the joy of having a tiny great work of literature in front of your face at all times.

As my wife drives the family to our friend's house in Connecticut, I ride shotgun, tilt my head back, and dive into some nineteenth-century fiction. "Okay, Glass, Google ' Moby-Dick full text,' " I say. I find a free file from Princeton University. The problem? The sentences don't fit on the screen. If I want to finish a line, I have to turn my head to the right, then shift it back to the left. I look like a spectator at Wimbledon or a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. I'm also carsick.

"Can you stop?" my wife asks. "It's very distracting."

His view on the highway before returning to Moby Dick

After a half-hour break, I try again. I find another version of Moby-Dick that fits on the screen.

I start to read. It's both strange and wonderful. The words float against the sky above the Saw Mill River Parkway. The text is so close to my eyes, the book feels like it's inside my brain. I'm in my own secret world, like the kid with the flashlight under the blanket, but without the flashlight or blanket.

I've never read Moby-Dick, and the details seem so visceral up close: Queequeg harpooning the breakfast beefsteaks from across the table, or draping his tattooed arm over Ishmael during a forced spooning. And who knew Melville was such a cranky bastard, an early Louis C. K. with his urge to step into the street and start "methodically knocking people's hats off"?

After forty-five minutes, I get an ice-pick headache and have to stop. I later tell some tech-loathing book-world friends, who react with horror — as if reading on an iPad weren't bad enough. In their honor, I read a long article on my Glass called "35 Arguments Against Google Glass," which gives me an ironic thrill.

Literature verdict: briefly fantastic. Use caution.

OPERATION: TEXAS HOLDEM

One of Glass's most impressive features is that it can live-stream video from your point of view. Anyone can see the world through your eyes. If you're at the grocery store facing a baffling array of tomato sauces, just video-call your wife. On her laptop, she can scan the shelf and tell you to get the seven-herb Robusto. Very useful.

Also useful? Invite some friends over for poker and have your cousin who's a professional poker player in Vegas secretly observe your cards from his laptop and signal to you how to bet.

I have such a cousin. He agreed to the plan. I'd be his poker body, he'd be my poker brain. Together we'd create The Sting 2.0.

My cousin and I spend the day practicing our scheme. On his computer, he can see my cards. On my walnut-sized screen, I can see a teensy version of him holding up handwritten signs, like FOLD. Or RAISE TEN DOLLARS. Or CALL. I keep my cousin on mute for two reasons: First, I don't want my fellow cardplayers to hear him. And second, he's kind of a cocky bastard.

At 8:00 P. M. on a Thursday, my three unsuspecting friends come to my apartment. They know I'm testing Glass, but I tell them it's only for e-mail. "Are you going to look up whether a straight beats a flush?" my friend Carl jokes. "Ha, ha," I chuckle. "No, nothing like that." (Though it's true I barely know the rules.)

Hustling his friends at poker.

I deal. I lift my hand to show my cousin my jack and six. And…the video goes black. I tap the side of my frames furiously to reconnect. We finally do, but ten seconds later, his image freezes midscribble. Dammit!

I'm stranded. This is awful. After losing a bunch of hands, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and call my cousin on my cell. We whisper-argue over who is to blame for the technical snafu.

Back at the table, we get the live stream running again. And he holds up the FOLD sign three hands in a row. Ugh. This isn't working.

And then, on an ace-ten, he has me bet ten dollars, then raise fifteen. It's much more aggressive than my usual "I guess I'll call" strategy. We win! I get a head rush.

Another hand, he writes, LET'S BLUFF. BET TWENTY DOLLARS. My friends fold. Another pot! My cousin writes, NOW SHOW YOUR CARDS AND LAUGH. Too late. I've already tossed my cards into the mix. "Wait!" I say. I try to reach back into the pile. My friends give me a puzzled look.

It's thrilling, this freedom from choice, the comfort of knowing that I'm playing like a master. Granted, it's far from a flawless plan. At times, my cousin can't see my hand, even though I shove my nose right up to the cards. The video is spotty and slow (it's a prototype, after all), so I spend a lot of time stalling. "Hmm. Let me think." And, as I mentioned, my cousin has an attitude. CLEAN UP YOUR STACK. he writes on his whiteboard, his Sharpie cap dangling from his mouth. I stack. He shakes his head. MORE VERTICAL!

At one point, my nine-year-old son joins the game. He gets a good hand, but my cousin senses mine is better and tells me to raise my son forty dollars, the kid's life savings. I can't do it. My cousin writes, PUSSY.

But overall, the plan works surprisingly well. After two hours, I've tripled my money to $200, at which point I confess my sin to my friends and give them back their money.

They seem more baffled than angry. "So what are you seeing? He's in that little thing?" The next day, one friend e-mails to thank me for the night, adding, "despite the fact that I woke up with a somewhat violated feeling that I can't seem to shake."

Poker verdict: delightful. Dangerous.

OPERATION: DICTATION

Three weeks in, class [correction: Glass] and I are getting along better. There are still plenty of annoyances, like accidentally tweeting a photo of the Chipotle counter. But I love taking video of my sons without them getting me and I'm rolling "Oh, Dad." [Correction: without them giving me an eye-rolling "Oh, Dad."] I've successfully Googled the "XYZ affair," "flank steak against the grain," and "burrata cheese."

I'm also getting the hang of the voice-recognition feature. I find Glass prefers in order to perform [correction: Glass prefers a more chipper voice], like I'm a tour guide at Universal theme park. Not my favorite own [correction: tone], but I adjust.

In fact, I have dictated this entire section of the article. Perhaps most impressive: Glass is no prude. It understands and spells out every horrible, naughty word I can think of. And that includes blumpkin. See? Please do not Google that.

Dictation verdict: lawless [correction: flawless].

OPERATION: MOVIES AND TV

More than twenty-five years ago, a heavyweight boxer named Mitch Green was arrested for allegedly driving with a working TV mounted on the hood of his car.

Prescient.

I don't plan to drive while watching my Glass — I do enjoying living — but what if I tried to watch video every moment of the day that I'm not operating heavy machinery? My first plan was to stream a series of back-to-back epic movies on my Glass as I ran my errands and made my calls. Unfortunately, Glass isn't yet compatible with Netflix.

Instead, I had to settle for sixteen hours of YouTube. I watch Ali G while at the grocery. I watch a TED talk about bipolar disorder while scrubbing the dishes. While taking my kids to the Museum of Natural History, I creep myself out by watching the "Blurred Lines" video, squinting to make out the world's tiniest nipples.

Things start to spin out of control. How could they not? It's my childhood dream come true, this ever-present TV. My wife approaches me in the kitchen. I can see her mouth moving. I tell her, "I'm watching a Richard Pryor clip about the first black president. If it's important, let me know, and I'll pause." She walks away.

It doesn't help that I'm wearing earplugs to improve the sound quality and occasionally pressing the Glass temple into the bone above my ear.

I begin trying to improve life. When I'm out for a hike, I see a waterfall. It's fine. But why not spice things up with a video of Angel Falls in Venezuela? Now, that's spectacular. I have lunch at Panera Bread, but why not search for video of the inside of Le Bernardin? Sadly, I couldn't find it. But I'm sure I will soon.

I'm worried for reality.

Movies-and-TV verdict: incomplete. But promising.

OPERATION: OUTSOURCED CONSCIENCE  

This brings up the distraction issue.  Many say  Glass  is taking our ADHD culture to its logical, horrible conclusion. But interestingly,  Google  argues that  Glass  will make you less  distracted. Its position is that you don’t have to look down to see your e-mails. And no more fishing in your  pocket to get your iPhone to snap your kid’s violin recital. Just click a button. Technology becomes seamless.

I agree with both sides. If used judiciously,  Glass   can make you more in the moment, less likely to steal glances at your smartphone. You are relaxed, free from what the kids call FOMO. But the opposite can be true, especially if you overeagerly subscribe to  updates from e-mail, Twitter, CNN,  The New York Times ,  and a location-based service that tells me I just passed the site of the 1981 movie  My Dinner with André .

The constant dings have turned me into Mr. Magoo. I’ve bumped into a parking sign and stumbled on the sidewalk. My friend Paul says that I’ll soon be saying, “Okay,  Glass .  Google  ‘Help me, I broke eight ribs.’ ”

Maybe I can put these interruptions to good use. I once read that in ancient Rome, when a general came home victorious, they’d throw him a triumphal parade. But there was always a slave who walked behind the general, whispering in his ear to keep him humble. “You are mortal,” the slave would say.

I’ve always wanted a modern nonslave version of this — a way to remind myself to keep perspective. And  Glass  seemed the first gadget that would allow me to do that. In the morning, I schedule a series of messages to e-mail myself throughout the day. “You are mortal.” “You are going to die someday.” “Stop being a selfish bastard and think about others.”

I’m waiting in line at the pharmacy when I get a message from  myself: “Think about what you are thinking.” I’m stewing about how this woman can’t figure out which way to swipe her debit card.  Glass  is right: This is not how I want to be using my brainpower.

Outsourced-conscience verdict: Could be a great business. Whose profits I would donate, of course.  

OPERATION: CYRANO

I still need to put Glass to the ultimate test: Can it help a guy get some action?

I'm married with three kids, and my wife has made it clear that Glass is not an aphrodisiac for her. So I figured I'd lend my device to a single twenty-six-year-old editor at Esquire. The plan: He'll wear it to a downtown New York bar, and I'll watch the live-stream video from home and tell him what to do. I'll be his Cyrano. I'll get a vicarious night on the town, all while eating my butternut-squash soup in the comfort of my home. I can't wait.

On a Thursday night, Matt enters the bar. We approach a pack of blond twenty-something women from South Carolina.

The scan at the bar.

"I'm doing an article for Esquire magazine on books women read," he says (our prearranged line). "What's your favorite book?"

"I don't read books," says one blond.

The video's not great. I can make out their faces a bit, but I mostly see a glowing candle.

"Mine is A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. "

On my laptop, I Google "Tree Grows in Brooklyn quotes." I send an instant message to Matt's Glass. (The bar is too loud for me to talk to him.)

"The world was hers for the reading," says Matt. We are met with a blank face. "That's from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. "

"Are those Google Glasses?" one woman says. "Can I try them on?"

Huh. Not part of the plan, but I guess so. Matt has to explain that she'll be seeing a miniature video of me, so as not to alarm her.

"Hi there!" the woman says.

If the Cyrano strategy isn't working, maybe I can be his virtual wingman. "Isn't Matt handsome?" I message her. "I think he really likes you."

She laughs a bit nervously. Matt, thankfully, remains unaware.

Matt puts my Glass back on and we approach a woman named Jessica — cute, black dress, bangs. We ask her her birthday. September 13.

"You know, you share a birthday with Niall from One Direction," Matt says, thanks to my Googling.

"Who is that?" she asks.

"Also Tyler Perry," says Matt.

"Give me someone cool."

"Milton Hershey, inventor of the Hershey bar."

"Yeah, he's pretty cool."

Now we're getting somewhere. Now we're flirting. I Google her name and find something on a new-agey Web site. I type: "The name Jessica means you long for a stable and loving family relationship."

Matt refuses to say my line. Jessica drifts away.

We find another woman, this one French. I ask him to tell this woman, "You're like a parking ticket. You have 'fine' written all over you."

"My colleague in my Glass wants me to tell you you're like a parking ticket."

There's lots of noise. I can't see her reaction. Glass cuts out.

To get another perspective, Matt lets his female friend — who came with him to the bar — try Glass. She approaches a group of men. They are having none of it.

"You're okay, but your friend looks like a douchebag with them on," says the British ringleader.

I Google douchebag, hoping for a good douchebag-related retort. But what I find is both too late and too lame. "You're saying I'm a bag of vinegar and water invented in 1766?" The Brit has walked away by this time.

The single women seem more intrigued by Glass, the men more threatened.

Matt is flirting with one of the South Carolina women again. She tells him her name. I find her Internet trail and feed him information.

"So you like Mad Men ?" he asks (from her Pinterest board). "What was it like being a casting assistant?" (LinkedIn.) "Tell me about the Sloppy Tuna music festival in Montauk" (a photographer's Web site).

The woman is both fascinated and freaked out. She takes out her iPhone to see where we are getting this. Her friend pulls her away to the bathroom.

After about an hour, the video cuts out. The next day, I ask Matt what happened the rest of the night.

"A woman lifted up her shirt and showed me her bra," he says.

What? I cut out and it goes from Cyrano to Joe Francis?

"She wanted to see if I could get a photo. I think I did."

Trust me, he didn't. I searched the photos from the night for a long time. Most were dark and blurry.

The night did make clear that Glass could have a profound impact on dating. Imagine when hackers start releasing facial-recognition software against Google's will: We might scan the room and figure out who is married, whose company just had an IPO, who got busted for shoplifting when they were nineteen. Imagine being able to come up with retorts worthy of Oscar Wilde because they were written by Oscar Wilde.

Cyrano verdict: date bait. But creepy. Partial success.

CONCLUSION

Will I wear Glass in real life? That depends a lot on whether everyone else wears it. I'm impressed overall, but I don't want to be one of those in America's small cadre of Glassholes. I need social acceptance.

It's hard to predict whether Glass will become a mass phenomenon. But if it doesn't, something like it will. Perhaps a gadget that looks no more noticeable than a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Technology won't stop. We are all on a long, slow march toward becoming half-android. Will the good outweigh the bad? Who the hell knows?

Well, that's not entirely true. "Okay, Glass, Google 'Will Glass be good or bad for society?'"

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Tips for Men Re-Entering the Dating Scene After 40

Zero Creative | Getty Images

You may be older and wiser, and really know who you are and what you want, but you have no idea what it’s like to date in the new millennium.

First of all, the vernacular is completely different. “Hey, baby” and “Page me” are no longer acceptable pick-up lines. Mixed tapes and parking at “Inspiration Point” are no longer acceptable forms of wooing. And there are at least 157 new technological ways you can embarrass yourself (see: Weiner, Anthony.)

“When you come out of a divorce or breakup and you haven’t been on a date in a while, it can feel like you are on another planet where you don’t speak the language and all the rules of society have changed,” said Paul A. Falzone, CEO of eLove .

And so, just like astronauts need assistance with entry into the Earth’s atmosphere, eLove says, they’ve decided to open a division for men over 40 to help them re-enter the Loooooooove atmosphere.

The site offers a few tips for re-entry:

Hit the gym. Have you seen “The Jersey Shore?” Their hobbies are GTL — gym, tanning and laundry – all ways to improve their appearance and impress the ladies. This is what you’re competing against. Admit things have shifted since you were last single and start toning it up.

Skip the bar scene. It’s OK to go to bars with friends or co-workers but don’t do it to meet potential dates.

Network. Instead of hitting the bars, Falzone suggests networking as a way to meet potential dates. Just like you would spread the word if you’re unemployed and looking for friends to hook you up with a potential job, tell everyone you know you’re interested in dating again. This is how you’ll meet the best fit.

If you’ve never seen this YouTube video before, use it as what NOT to do guide:

Think of Him as a Wingman for Hire

All the lonely people, the Beatles sang — identifying a consumer market of vast scale and almost limitless need. Which is to say, an opportunity. On a recent Monday night in the meatpacking district, that marketplace was in full swirl: stylish men and women circling one another, offering a line, a joke, a meeting of cellphones.

In the lounge of the Dream Hotel, two men were leaving nothing to chance. Anthony Recenello. 29, is a social development coach, which is not, he stresses, a pickup artist. His companion, John, who asked to be identified only by his first name to avoid embarrassment, is a restaurant manager who pays Mr. Recenello $1,000 a month for four sessions of hands-on mentoring, the ultimate goal of which, he stresses, is not to pick up lots of women.

Stresses duly noted.

Mr. Recenello, a handsome man who does not seem burdened by self-doubt, watched as his student approached a woman and struck up a conversation.

“I’m looking for eye contact,” he said. “It shows respect for the person.” He demonstrated his preferred method of making eye contact: head tilted slightly down, eyes raised, signaling what he calls “meditative mingling.”

“You’re present, you’re in the moment,” he said. “It says, ‘I know you have something great inside of you, and I want it to come out. I’m ready for it and I’m waiting for it.’ ”

Cellphones appeared; Facebook contacts — “safer than phone numbers,” John said — were exchanged. John returned to his teacher practically vibrating.

“That was amazing,” Mr. Recenello said, putting an arm around his protege. “Now I want you to take it up a level.”

Only the lonely, Roy Orbison sang, and it is a shame that he didn’t live long enough to complete the thought: Only the lonely would Google the terms “pickup artist” or “PUA” and “NYC” to see the plenitude of remedies being flogged to men who want to meet women — seduction seminars, boot camps, web forums, meetups, workshops and newsletters, often with money-back guarantees.

For most of human existence, men had to rely on traditional tools like their wit or Dutch courage, maybe a pickup manual advertised in the back of a men’s magazine and delivered in a plain brown wrapper. That changed in 2005, when a book called “The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists” by a former reporter for The New York Times, Neil Strauss. brought into the mainstream techniques like “the neg,” a slight insult intended to make an attractive woman uncomfortable. The underground was now above ground, available to people who might never enter a PUA chat room.

“A friend gave me the book when I was in high school,” said G. a client of Mr. Recenello’s who asked to be identified only by his first initial to preserve his privacy.

“This book really blew out a lot of concepts I had about the way relationships worked and how attraction worked,” he said.

John also read the book as a teenager, ultimately following with a $1,200 weekend boot camp called the Approach. Without the book, he said, “I wouldn’t be the person I am now.”

Mr. Recenello has previously worked as a babysitter, gymnastics instructor and life coach for young children — he wrote guides for parents called “Charismatic Kid: The New Breed of Superhero” and “Let’s Let Kids Do Something Big.”

He has had few lasting romantic relationships and is not in one now, but he does not lack for confidence or vim. As he wrote in “Charismatic Kid”: “I finally have something that I think is literally amazing. This is something that has never, ever been done before (trust me, I’ve looked).”

He is keen to distinguish himself from the pickup artist community. On an afternoon at the Standard Hotel, he sipped mineral water — he does not drink alcohol, he said — and outlined some key differences.

“When I see those type of people at a bar, they’re immediately noticeable,” he said. “They’re on the prowl. They use pickup lines and recited stories. They’re coming at it from a place of conquering, where they weren’t able to in high school. I’m not about that at all.”

Instead, he offered some general principles common to self-help literature: Be yourself, don’t worry about rejection, be vulnerable, be present. Be passionate about your interests, and men and women will be attracted to you.

“Not only is it morally good, but I think it’s more effective,” he said. “That stuff, like the neg, is outdated.”

A few years ago, he began to post such advice on various pickup forums and message boards. Soon he got a call from a reader asking for advice. As one protege led to another, he began charging for his services: first $400 a month, then gradually increasing to a cool thousand. He says he has from five to a dozen clients at a time.

“I was struck by the caring part, the wanting to be there for you part,” said Gustavo Sanchez, 26, who became an early client after meeting Mr. Recenello through a free workshop given by Real Social Dynamics. an international dating coaching company.

“Whatever part of your life needs a kick, he’ll give it that kick,” Mr. Sanchez said. His own tutelage began with help approaching women, then gradually underwent a transition to help with his depression, for which he receives medical treatment. “His thing isn’t about getting sex,” Mr. Sanchez said. “It’s about being a confident person and able to ask a stranger out. I wouldn’t say I’m shy. I feel undeserving, unworthy.”

Do men need this? Mr. Recenello noted that men hire trainers for their physical development; why not for their social development, where the rewards are potentially greater? If the exchange of money feels somehow unseemly, he said, it won’t for long.

“Think about dating sites,” he said. “They used to be tacky, or people didn’t talk about them. People don’t like talking about the pickup artist community because of what it is. I want to make what I’m doing mainstream, something that people are proud to say they’re doing.”

Do women need this? Mr. Recenello was just as affirmative.

“The way I teach interacting, I want the guys to be as naked as possible, meaning as vulnerable as possible. Express yourself emotionally. Get specific about it. When the layers are stripped off, both people can be their real selves, and that’s when they can see if they really like each other.”

At the Dream Hotel, John approached two women, with Mr. Recenello following. John made eye contact; he listened; he kept the conversation going. Mr. Recenello moved more quickly, intertwining his fingers with his new friend’s, kissing her on the side of the head, getting her contact information.

On the street afterward, John assessed the night. He had met a guy who might help him professionally, and felt good about his courage in approaching strangers.

“He’s almost like a therapist,” he said of Mr. Recenello. “What he prescribes is almost medicine. All of us, we need this one last push. We’re so sick of being safe.”

Mr. Recenello ultimately would not call the woman he talked with. She was fun for a few minutes in a bar, he said, but not compatible enough for a full date.

John said he thought the money he paid for his mentoring was well spent. “It’s tough,” he said. “But you spend money on a lot of stuff and it doesn’t make you happy. This is the best investment, because it’s an investment in the self.”

You don’t have to be lonely, Gil Scott-Heron sang, and it is a shame he is not here to sing it for John and Mr. Recenello. Their pursuit of women brought them together, each fulfilling the other’s deep-seated need.

And in a week, they can do it again.

A version of this article appears in print on May 18, 2014, on page MB1 of the New York edition with the headline: Wingman for Hire. Order Reprints | Today's Paper | Subscribe

Leeds man killed in mobility scooter collision

Police appealed for witnesses to the collision to come forward

A 77-year-old man has died after his mobility scooter was involved in a collision with a car in Leeds city centre.

West Yorkshire Police said Ronald Drye was seriously injured in the crash on York Street on Tuesday.

He was taken to Leeds General Infirmary where he later died.

PC Paul Lightowler, from the force's major collision inquiry team, has appealed for witnesses to the incident to contact his unit.

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