Early this morning I found myself waiting in a long line with determined folks from my hometown. Men wearing camo jackets and baseball caps, some in plaid shirts and windbreakers. Women dressed in mom jeans and sweaters, others in business slacks and casual blouses. Young people, older people. A microcosm of small town America.
When in long lines, it profits the writer to imagine. Why is the blonde with glasses frowning? Probably it’s the standing in line for twenty minutes in the drizzle, but the writer pushes the boundaries of convention. Maybe she received bad news the night before and arrived at the polling station after a sleepless night. A quiet man nearby whispers to her. Did he play a part? Farther up the line a heavyset man glances around, looking nervous. Why? A young guy sporting a polo shirt and a grin exits the hall and addresses the crowd, “Man, do I feel better!”
Fodder for the writer’s mind. And a great way to pass the time while waiting in line to vote.