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- Филип Киндред Дик
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"
Well
…
"
he
managed
to
mutter
.
"
Butter
churn
.
Icecream
maker
circa
1900
.
"
His
mind
refused
to
think
.
Just
when
you
forgot
about
it
;
just
when
you
fool
yourself
.
He
was
thirty
-
eight
years
old
,
and
he
could
remember
the
prewar
days
,
the
other
times
.
Franklin
D
.
Roosevelt
and
the
World
’
s
Fair
;
the
former
better
world
.
"
Could
I
bring
various
desirable
items
out
to
your
business
location
?
"
he
mumbled
.
An
appointment
was
made
for
two
o
’
clock
.
Have
to
shut
store
,
he
knew
as
he
hung
up
the
phone
.
No
choice
.
Have
to
keep
goodwill
of
such
customers
;
business
depends
on
them
.
Standing
shakily
,
he
became
aware
that
someone
—
a
couple
—
had
entered
the
store
.
Young
man
and
girl
,
both
handsome
,
well
-
dressed
.
Ideal
.
He
calmed
himself
and
moved
professionally
,
easily
,
in
their
direction
,
smiling
.
They
were
bending
to
scrutinize
a
counter
display
,
had
picked
up
a
lovely
ashtray
.
Married
,
he
guessed
.
Live
out
in
City
of
the
Winding
Mists
,
the
new
exclusive
apartments
on
Skyline
overlooking
Belmont
.
"
Hello
,
"
he
said
,
and
felt
better
.
They
smiled
at
him
without
any
superiority
,
only
kindness
.
His
displays
—
which
really
were
the
best
of
their
kind
on
the
Coast
—
had
awed
them
a
little
;
he
saw
that
and
was
grateful
.
They
understood
.
"
Really
excellent
pieces
,
sir
,
"
the
young
man
said
.
Childan
bowed
spontaneously
.
Their
eyes
,
warm
not
only
with
human
bond
but
with
the
shared
enjoyment
of
the
art
objects
he
sold
,
their
mutual
tastes
and
satisfactions
,
remained
fixed
on
him
;
they
were
thanking
him
for
having
things
like
these
for
them
to
see
,
pick
up
and
examine
,
handle
perhaps
without
even
buying
.
Yes
,
he
thought
,
they
know
what
sort
of
store
they
are
in
;
this
is
not
tourist
trash
,
not
redwood
plaques
reading
MUIR
WOODS
,
MARIN
COUNTY
,
PSA
,
or
funny
signs
or
girly
rings
or
postcards
or
views
of
the
Bridge
.
The
girl
’
s
eyes
especially
,
large
,
dark
.
How
easily
,
Childan
thought
,
I
could
fall
in
love
with
a
girl
like
this
.
How
tragic
my
life
,
then
;
as
if
it
weren
’
t
bad
enough
already
.
The
stylish
black
hair
,
lacquered
nails
,
pierced
ears
for
the
long
dangling
brass
handmade
earrings
.
"
Your
earrings
,
"
he
murmured
.
"
Purchased
here
,
perhaps
?
"
"
No
,
"
she
said
.
"
At
home
.
"
