Election day.

Not that you need me to tell you. Of course I voted. No one has heard me talk much about this election, unlike just about everybody in the country, because I’m weird about it. But I voted for Barack Obama and I am looking forward with hope (and the dread of disappointment) to a new day. It didn’t take long, my election district never has a long line — of the eight or ten EDs in the school gym, just two had lines in the late morning. My downstairs neighbor was right in front of me, number 194 to my 195, and while I waited for her to click down the tabs on our ancient voting machine, with the big red handle you swing across to make your choices and back again, with a tremendous and soul-shivering clunk, once you are sure, I looked up at the climbing wall installed behind the voting booth, and around at the voters of Carroll Gardens. Here they are, ages and colors and languages, little kids along with mothers and fathers, waiting in raggedy lines, and me among them. It’s enough to spark a little Walt Whitman in anyone’s heart. Plus there was a bake sale.


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