Sometimes, inspiration for this column comes from the most unusual places.

Each year my summer beach reading has a theme. This year it's classic science fiction — the works of the pioneers Isaac Asimov, Harlan Ellison, Philip K. Dick, Arthur C. Clarke, William Gibson, Frank Herbert, Orson Scott Card and a guy named Ray Bradbury (1920-2012), best known as the author of "Fahrenheit 451."

At a library book sale last week, I picked up a short story collection of Bradbury's called "The Golden Apples of the Sun" for 25 cents. Like all the best science fiction, Bradbury's stories aren't so much about outer space, rocket science or alien life forms as they are about humanity — how human beings respond and adapt to the challenges of a technological future.

Some of the stories were definitely dated, and some were a bit odd — there was one about a dinosaur that falls in love with a lighthouse, for example. But one story absolutely blew me away. In about 10 pages, Bradbury nailed exactly how we live today. It's called "The Murderer," and it can be found online.

In the story, a psychiatrist visits a prison to examine a criminal. As he walks down several corridors to get to the prisoner's holding cell, his senses are assaulted by piped-in music, lots of television screens and interruptions from people trying to reach him on his wrist radio.

Finally, he gets to the cell. The prisoner's crime? He systematically destroyed every single piece of technology in his home, including:

—The telephone. (He "shoved it in the kitchen Insinkerator.")

—The television set. (He shot it to death.)

—The intercommunications system. (He poured water onto it.)

—The radio transmitter in his truck. (He spooned "French chocolate" ice cream — his favorite flavor — into it.).

Why? Brock, the prisoner, explains it in his own words:

"The telephone's such a convenient thing; it just sits there and demands you call someone who doesn't want to be called. Friends were always calling, calling, calling me. Hell, I hadn't any time of my own. When it wasn't the telephone it was the television, the radio, the phonograph. ... When it wasn't music, it was interoffice communications, and my horror chamber of a radio wristwatch on which my friends and my wife phoned every five minutes. ...

"When I'm in the field with my radio car there's no moment when I'm not in touch. In touch! There's a slimy phrase. Touch, hell. Gripped! Pawed, rather. Mauled and massaged and pounded by FM voices. You can't leave your car without checking in: 'Have stopped to visit gas-station men's room.' 'Okay, Brock, step on it!'"

Finally, the prisoner commits an act of terrorism: He rents a "portable diathermy machine" and carries it on the bus with him to and from work. When turned on, it disrupts all the technology within a several-block radius, driving people insane because they are no longer in constant contact with families and friends. Brock's wife freaks out when he gets home because he hasn't called in a half-hour.

At the end of the story the psychiatrist gives his report: The prisoner "seems completely disorientated ... Refuses to accept the simplest realities of his environment and work with them." He then returns to his desk, where he, "humming quietly, fitted the new wrist radio to his wrist, flipped the intercom, talked a moment, picked up one telephone, talked, picked up another telephone, talked, picked up the third telephone, talked, touched the wrist-radio button, talked calmly and quietly, his face cool and serene ... And he went on quietly this way through the remainder of a cool, air conditioned, and long afternoon: telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom."

Look around you right now. How many TV screens do you see? How many people are listening to music on iPods? How many people are looking at or talking on smartphones? And how many people are doing so in their cars? How many people on headsets? Substitute "smartphone" for "wrist radio," and Bradbury's classic story is a perfect portrait of life in the year 2016.

The amazing thing is that Bradbury wrote and published this story (wait for it) in the spring of 1953. Sixty-three years ago. Two years before I was born.

Cliff Ennico (crennico@gmail.com) is a syndicated columnist, author and former host of the PBS television series "Money Hunt." This column is no substitute for legal, tax or financial advice, which can be furnished only by a qualified professional licensed in your state. To find out more about Cliff Ennico and other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit our Web page at www.creators.com.