Field note. The specimen has constructed a vast plain of blackened stone and painted it with white boundary lines, apparently to teach its vehicles where to sleep.
Observation: the vehicles do not sleep. They are inert. They possess no metabolism, no waste, no offspring. Yet the human circles them at slow speed, hunting, for a rectangle of emptiness identical to forty other rectangles of emptiness. When it locates one, it emits a chirping sound from a hand device, and the vehicle blinks its lights twice, as if in greeting. The human then walks away without looking back. This appears to distress no one.
The plain radiates heat. Nothing grows here. The stone was poured across soil that once respired, and now the soil is sealed beneath it, breathing through cracks the humans immediately repair. I logged four humans standing in the shade of a single metal post, because it was the only shade available, on ground they themselves rendered shadeless.
Curious datum: the humans mark certain rectangles with a figure in a wheeled chair and leave these empty even at maximum density. They will circle for great durations rather than occupy them. I have not determined the malfunction. It resembles restraint. I have flagged it for re-study.
At day's end the plain empties. The vehicles depart in a slow, grinding procession toward smaller stone plains attached to their dwellings, where they will again be left, blinking, alone. The human owns a machine that can cross a continent, and spends the majority of its span deciding where to abandon it.
Conclusion pending. The human has built more resting places for its vehicles than for itself.