The Pedestrian (1953) by science fiction writer Ray Bradbury, on another view of police traffic stops, c. 2053.
“To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o’clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do. He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go, but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of 2053 A.D., or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.”
It’s a short story, but probably still under copyright in the US, so I will merely link to the copyright violator rather than violate copyright myself. The rest is here.
This is another entry into transport literature, a narrow genre.