He had been walking the streets for an hour but it was the same all over the town: all the polling stations were closed. Outside this one were the same group of men wearing ski masks. Not government, or at least not officially. He thought there was a high probability that they were Government. The men stood in front of the building blocking the way, pushing anyone who was foolish enough to approach them, with their rifles. "It's closed," one of them said to an old man. "You'll have to find another one." "But I've been coming to this one for years," the old man said. "Not this year, grandad. Fuck off." He watched the man limp off down the road. This was how it was going to end, he thought. He had laughed when people told him, last time, that this would be the last free and fair election. I guess you just take things for granted, he thought. Some things seem so permanent, until they are no more.
...
