One of the evangelists, satisfied, broke off and drifted outside. His name was Brandon, and he looked like an even better-tanned version of Pastor Rich, wearing a black baseball hat that read “Almighty” in white cursive script. He was a DJ, he said, and a traveler, but mostly, he explained, a follower of Christ. He leaned on his car, a gray Mercedes E550 convertible with a cross made of straw hanging from the rearview mirror. “Nice car,” I said. Brandon stepped back and admired it. “I am so blessed, man,” he said. “God gave me a Mercedes.”
