Oscar and Kevin dressed like derelicts, vanished through the social membrane, and began to stalk the Governor. They traveled by night in the sorriest hotels; they slept in roadside parks in newly purchased military-surplus tents. They burned their IDs and wore straw hats and gum boots and overalls. Kevin passed as Oscar’s minder, a lame guy with a guitar. Oscar passed as Kevin’s somewhat dim-witted cousin, the one who mumbled a lot. Oscar brandished an accordion. Even in a land that had once favored accordion music, they were mostly avoided. It was a frightening thing to see two mentally incompetent sidewalk buskers, with battered folk instruments, who might at any moment burst into song.