The Simulacra

by Philip K. Dick

The buzzing, super-alert, obnoxiously persistent reporting machine said, “Is it true, Dr. Egon Superb, that you’re going to try to enter your office today?” There should have been some way to keep reporting machines out of one’s house, Dr. Superb reflected. However, there was not. He said, “Yes. As soon as I finish this breakfast which I am eating I will get into my wheel, drive to downtown San Francisco, park in a lot, walk directly to my office on Post Street, where as usual I will give psychotherapy to my first patient of the day. Despite the law, the so-called McPhearson Act.” He drank his coffee. “And you have the support—” “The IAPP has fully endorsed my action,” Dr. Superb said. In fact he had talked to the executive council of the International Association of Practicing Psychoanalysts just ten minutes ago. “I don’t know why you picked me out to interview. Every member of the IAPP will be in his office this morning.” And there were over ten thousand members, scattered throughout the USEA, both in North America and in Europe.