She took hold of him and led him away. "You must understand," she said in a voice that was firmer than her grip. "Men often listen to music. Only robots play it."
On playday Danny went walking in Culture City. Elsewhere there were game robots and organized activity, but he didn't like being organized. There were times he didn't care for it at all.
He went past a night club, department store and beauty salon, twentieth century middle period. His interest was casual.
He first paused at a late twentieth century drugstore. He went inside and looked at the merchandise. He still wasn't interested, but it was best to pretend curiosity. Shoplifting is a crime punishable by law. What exactly was shoplifting? If it meant what it seemed to, there were giants in those days. He walked on, past the telephone booths at the back of the store.
He was nearing his goal. Outside, at the extreme back, near the parking lot where ancient vehicles were still standing to complete the illusion of authenticity, he saw it.
The S.P. was bigger than a telephone booth and was decorated with odd green figures the intent of which was to project comfort and rest. There were larger and better S.P.'s, near his home, but Danny had a reason for coming here. It was one of the first models, but it did the same work that more modern ones did. It was slower, but Danny had time.
He looked around. Late afternoon, not many were in Culture City at this time of day. Certain that no one observed, he squeezed in the anteroom of the S.P. and closed the door.
He took coins from his pocket and inserted them, waiting for the mechanism to warm up.
"Name?" asked S.P. The voice had an old fashioned sound. A little too hearty and friendly.