The day after Dick left his cigarettes in Hard Times Cafe the night before, he experienced Hell and all of its fury. Demons were middle-aged zombies, mostly women, shuffling about home furniture stores with question marks in their eyes, and they all come to you with a confused look that only dogs have mastered because you're wearing an apron that says you can help them in hellspeak. And when they find you, they ask:
"Do you have this in stock?" or "Is this mohagony or cognac?" or "If I bought a couch, would I have to carry it out myself?"
Dick would periodically make his way back to Earth and mingle with the living. It was in these moments that he suspected himself of misanthropy. He never had a chance to mull over the idea, though, as he was always yanked back into that terrible place of whining and not being able to smoke.