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COCOON Sid Throndyke overrode his respirator to heave a deep sigh. "Wow!" he said, flipping to his wife's personal channel. "A tough day on the Office channel." The contact screens attached to his eyeballs stayed blank: Cluster was out. Impatiently, Sid toed the console, checking the channels: Light, Medium and Deep Sitcom; auto-hypno; Light and Deep Narco; four, six, and eighty-party Social; and finally, muttering to himself, Psychan. Cluster's identity symbol appeared on his screens. "There you are," he grieved. "sychan again. After a hard day, the least a man expects is to find his wife tuned to his channel-" "Oh, Sid; there's this wonderful analyst. A new model. It's doing so much for me, really wonderful. . . ." "I know," Sid grumped. "That orgasm-association technique. That's all I hear. I'd think you'd want to keep in touch with the Sitcoms, so you know what's going on; but I suppose you've been tied into Psychan all day-while I burned my skull out on Office." "Now, Sid; didn't I program your dinner and everything?" "Um |
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