Voting

In from the brisk 26 degree cold, when was the last time I’ve been in a Parish building? 200 feet away, through the window, the MoveOn heard stands freezing their rears in the hopes of changing one last mind? Precinct 26 or 27? Look at my card, whooop, I’m 26, so there’s no line. No line to stand in, instead there is the infamous line of the aged volunteers ready to check me in. Yep, I’m in the book, says middle aged woman number one bedecked in her red, white, and blue sweat shirt. The grandma one over has me put my John Hancock on a line. But mine isn’t nearly as loud and shouting and revolutionary. Then its to the booth where a mighty poster board of choices await my decision. Green lights flicker as I consult my list of choices. Kerry for president. 1 Republican for my dad. 2 Greens for revolution. And then the lonely button to cast my vote is pressed. The lights go out and bits go somewhere hopefully safe from tamper. And back out into the 26 degree morning. 26. Huh. Hopefully a lucky number.