As the robotic police car takes Leonard Mead to the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies it passes by his house. Mead can tell it's his house straight away by the fact that the lights are on, and all the other houses on the street—indeed all the houses in the entire city—are plunged in darkness. The reason for this is that Leonard Mead, uniquely, has the strange habit of not watching television.

As Mead makes clear as he goes for his evening walk, he doesn't have much time for the regular diet of mindless pap served up by the TV networks. Whether it's quiz shows, revues, or variety shows in which comedians fall of stages, Mead doesn't care; he thinks it's all unmitigated dross. Once upon a time, Mead used to be a writer. But in this dystopian society there's no longer any demand for books or magazines. So the only way that Mead can rebel against the stultifying conformity that holds society in a vice grip is by refusing to have a viewing screen in his house, leaving all his lights on, and preferring to go for a walk instead of watching TV.