Phil Dick wishes he’d never started writing. Phil Dick wishes he’d never stopped writing. Phil Dick wishes he could do his work. Phil Dick wishes he didn’t have to work. Phil Dick wishes the robot cops’ horse was his friend. Phil Dick wishes he didn’t have to have any friends.
Phil Dick does drugs, but not at work. Except sometimes. Phil Dick hates computer games, but he makes them for a job. Phil Dick hates the Beatles, but got on the backstage list for their show at Candlestick Park. Phil Dick hates Bruce Lee, but he has to make it through dinner with that preening rock star. Phil Dick has a lot of harsh judgments about everybody else for someone who has a wife and a mistress and a total inability to pay his bills or generally handle his shit.
Phil Dick does drugs, but not at work. Except all the time. Phil Dick can’t get any work done, because he can’t stop reading about the mystery of the Lead Masks, like everybody else with a Heady™, or wondering where the hell the Grey Ghost has gone.
Finally, utterly failing at life on every level has got to feel like the end of the world. Right?
Phil Dick wonders how it’s going to feel.
COMING IN TWO WEEKS: