Minor spoilers in post here (and major at the image link)
All his identification cards were gone. Cards that made it possible for him to stay alive. Cards that got him through pol and nat barricades without being shot or thrown into a forced-labor camp.
I can't live two hours without my ID, he said to himself. I don't even dare walk out of the lobby of this rundown hotel and onto the public sidewalk. They'll assume I'm a student or teacher escaped from one of the campuses. I'll spend the rest of my life as a slave doing heavy manual labor. I am what they call an unperson.
"You TV celebrities no one's ever heard of sure have quick reactions," she murmured.
(speaking about Proust's Remembrance of Things Past) ..."I never read it," Jason said. "But on my program we did a dramatic rendering of a scence... I don't know which. We got a lot of good mail about it, but we never tried it again. Those out things, you have to be careful and not dole out too much. If you do it kills it dead for everybody, all networks, for the rest of the year."
"I think," Kathy said at last, "that the sevens made the coup not come off."
He thought, Sevens. Never in his life had he heard of sevens. Nothing could have shocked him more. Good, he thought, that I let out that lapsus linguae. I have genuinely learned something, now. At last. In this maze of confusion and the half real.
Also check out this earlier post.