Then, Chuck Dane reminisced, with lung cancer dropping off steadily, they had started in to curb heart attacks. And taken away the only pleasure a guy had left! He was in sight of his place of work now. A huge half-circle of plexiglass that was Airex Roller Skating Factory. Chuck thought as he entered the building, that four hours was a hell of a long working day, especially doing material control posting all that time. He hoped the bill to change working hours to three hours would pass soon.... * * * * * At two o'clock in the afternoon, Chuck lined up with the rest of the office force to walk single file past the hidden electronic camera. Out of habit, he held his right hand in salute position, palm toward the camera. These deals had been interesting when they first replaced the old style time clocks, now they were routine. As the queue neared the door where the company's three psychiatrists stood, Chuck got more and more nervous. Suppose they could read his mind, or something! Sure enough, Doctor Benton wiggled a finger for him to step out of line. He took him to one side, and peered into his face. Chuck tried to look into the green eyes, so calm and assured, but he had to look away. "You okay, Dane?" "Sure! Tired, that's all. Helluva long day!" "Yes. Well, you come in and see me tomorrow. We'll have us a little talk." Rapidly, Chuck left the building. He muttered, "Like hell we will, Headshrinker!" Furtively, he left the usual road home, and walked into a corner drugstore. He stood around with his hands in his pockets, until all the other customers cleared out. "Puffies," he said. The big man behind the counter tried to hitch his belt over his paunch. "Sure you know what you're doin', Bud? Have to take your number you know." Chuck didn't answer. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and laid it palm up on the glass counter top. The man wrote down the id number and handed over the cigarettes. Chuck walked on home, with the Puffies a guilty lump in his jacket pocket. He felt sure everybody he met knew what he was up to. At home, Chuck stuck his head in the kitchen and said "Hi" to Sally. He resisted patting her. He went to the den and locked the door with trembling fingers, then sat at the desk and took out his knife. He cut off the realistic red nipples from all twenty cigarettes, and made a pyre of them in the middle of the glass top. Then he set fire to them, not minding the acrid smoke. He put a cigarette to his lips. Still he hesitated, fearing the hallucinations, about which he had heard but never experienced.