'He hates god!' spat the radio.
The voice of the middle-aged man quivered with rage.
'He has defiled the social order! I shall go so far as to say, he is the Antichrist!'
Gene Conti turned off the radio.
No matter where he went or what he listened to, his name was often mentioned.
In the hair salons, they gossiped about his style. In the bakery, they chatted about his ongoing court case. At bus stops, they moaned about his antics. And at papers stands, they debated whether he was dislikable or extremely dislikable.
These days, Gene Conti had no personal life. Everything surrounding him was publicized and distributed across the Western world.
The more they talked about him, the more egregious his behavior became. There was no other way for him to cope with the constant surveillance.
Robertson, his lawyer, warned him about it constantly.
'Something's got to give,' he would say at the end of their meetings.
But Gene only ever waved his hand dismissively.
