Too late to try to influence us with late-breaking indictments and 25-year-old love children. We took a nice walk — er — over to the First Congregational Church where they'd made a polling place out of the big downstairs auditorium instead of the usual little ground-floor room. There was no line, but I was #220 at 8:15 a.m. The polls opened at 7, so maybe there were lines earlier — citizens who'd moved on into the workplace.
"Did you absentee vote?" I was asked as I checked in.
"No, I prefer the theater of in-person voting," I said, and the woman checking me in said that she did too.
The mood in the place was somber. I didn't bother to take a blue folder that's provided to hide the ballot as you go from the place where you draw a black marker line completing the arrows that point at the names of the candidates you like to the machine that sucks in the ballot and makes that reassuring noise that tells you the ballot is now truly and securely collected. But the young woman after me wielded the blue folder with great care as she approached the machine. So secretive! You know what that means.
Here in Madison, Wisconsin.
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