Where is P.K.D. when you need him?

Imaginary phone conversation with my hero, Philip K. Dick, science fiction luminary and crackpot philosopher: 

"Phil, what the fuck! You don't return my phone calls anymore? Too damn famous since Blade Runner."

"Franklin, your phone has been disconnected. Are you drunk?" 

"What? Oh yeah. I forgot to pay my bill. I am a little inebriated. How could you tell?"

"Never mind, Franklin. Listen, I've been thinking about your critique of my draft of Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said. You really think the two strangers at the gas station should embrace?"

"Yes! Why, you don't think it works? You don't trust me anymore, Phil?"

"I don't know, Franklin. They're strangers. Plus, Felix has just lost his sister. His career has crumbled. He's numb." 

"I know, Phil. But that's the whole point of it. He's a fucking wreck, and he has no one left. He sees this guy and they exchange small talk. It's such a nothing kind of connection, but so what? Maybe that's it, Phil - what you've been searching for: the enormity of the universe and none of it makes any sense, but there's this one guy, and he's all fucked up, but he's still trying. Right? He should just quit and cash out his chips, but he doesn't. He keeps trying, Phil." 

"Okay, Franklin. I'm with you. Keep going." 

"And so he reaches out. At a damn gas station. With a stranger. For no reason. 

"Other than he's profoundly alone." 

"That's right, Phil. And, in that instant, everything is restored." 

"What? You mean his job and his sister's life?"

"No, dammit. His hope."

"Ah. I like it, Franklin. Let me think about it. You want to go get some pizza and then bowl a few games?"

"Sure, Phil. But none of that Hawaiian shit with the pineapples and ham. I don't know how you can stand it." 

"Sausage and cheese?" 

"You're on."