After he was gone, Princippi sunk to his cheap aluminum kitchen chair. He stared dejectedly at the floor, images of abject poverty battling the Dream for control of his thoughts. Poverty won out.

As he sat in gloomy depression, a few nylon straps snapped beneath his bottom. He barely noticed.

TWO HOURS LATER, Michael Princippi was tinkering under the hood of his rusting 1968 Volkswagen Beetle. He had no idea what was wrong with the car, but there was no way he was going to take it to a mechanic. After his stint as governor, working types seemed to hate him more than most. Besides, it was cheaper this way. And Princippi was nothing if not cheap. At least when it came to his own finances.

Former governor Princippi was not mechanically inclined. Nonetheless, he was in the process of tugging furiously with a pair of pliers at some filthy black thing with other longer things sticking out of it when he became aware of someone standing near him. He glanced up suddenly, banging his head on the underside of the hood. Sheets of rust dropped into the sunlight like startled bats.

"Who the hell are you?" Princippi demanded of the man standing in his driveway. He blinked rust from his eyes.

"Hi!" said the earnest, chirpy young man. "Would you like to change your life for the better?"

Princippi sized up the intruder.

Early twenties. Pale. A little above average height and weight. Bizarre clothing.

The kid wore a flowing white gown with an open pink rote draped over it. A long braided ponytail stuck like a handle from the back of his otherwise bald head.

The governor tipped his head. "Are you a registered voter?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied the young man.

"Then get lost," Princippi suggested. He went back to work beneath the hood.

Maybe the thing he had been working on didn't actually have anything to do with the way the car ran. He yanked at it again, more furiously this time. One of the strange twisty things on one side snapped in half.