Scores of messy-haired twenty-somethings wearing vintage concert T-shirts and beat-up Converse All-Stars next to clergymen and grandmothers with canes. Rastafarian drummers and musicians. Street performers and magicians. Tattered thrift store clothes alongside suits and ties. All kinds of homemade signs saying things like, ‘Tolerance Does Not End at Death,’ and ‘Cyclists against Prejudiced Spirits.’ And, of course, there were the night vision cameras and digital sound recorders and electro-magnetic field detectors. “I still don’t understand why we have to be here,” Morris and Abby heard him over the radio as a crackling electronic voice phenomenon, or EVP. Rev heard them fine with no electronic assistance at all. “It’s our job,” Abby said. “Yeah, but there are a whole lot of people here tonight. If we wanted to be low profile, I think we missed the mark.” “I told you there’d be a lot of people,”
