"What do you mean it's closed? This is the third one today!"
The line in front of me shifted nervously. People checking watches, scrolling through phones, looking anywhere but at the old man yelling at poor Denise who was just trying to explain that yes, this polling station was indeed closed due to "unforeseen circumstances."
I'd been following this guy, Martin, for about two hours now. Not in a creepy way. We just kept ending up at the same closed polling stations.
"Sir, I understand your frustration-" Denise started.
"No, you don't!" Martin's face had gone red. "I took the day off work. I've driven across town three times. This is voter suppression!"
I glanced at my phone. 6:48 PM. Polls closed at 8.
"Hey," I said, stepping forward. Probably shouldn't have, but the day had been long and my feet hurt. "I know where we can try next."
Martin turned to me, suspicious. "Who are you?"
"Ramona. I've been to the same places as you today. Got redirected from Westfield to Oakridge to here."
His eyes narrowed. "And?"
"My cousin works at the community center on Linden. Said they're still open. It's like 10 minutes from here."
Denise looked grateful that someone else was handling this now. The crowd behind us had thinned. People giving up, probably.
"Whatever," Martin said. "I'll follow you."
His car was nicer than I expected. A blue Honda that actually had all its hubcaps. Mine was missing two.
"So what's your deal?" he asked as I navigated a left turn. "You always this invested in strangers voting?"
I snorted. "Not usually. But this whole thing feels off. Three stations closed in one district? On election day?"
Martin grunted. "Been voting forty-two years. Never seen anything like it."
"You don't look that old."
"I'm sixty. Started voting at eighteen like you're supposed to."
I took a right past the abandoned K-Mart. "I'm twenty-seven and this is only my second time. First time was the presidential."
"Local elections matter more," he said immediately. I'd triggered some kind of preprogrammed lecture. "Mayor, city council, that's who decides if your street gets plowed in winter or if the cops harass kids in your neighborhood."
"Yeah yeah, I know. That's why I'm here, right?"
We hit a pothole that probably took five years off my suspension.
"Shit," I muttered. "Sorry."
Martin laughed. It wasn't warm. "See? Roads. Local election issue."
The community center parking lot was full. Good sign.
"Looks open," I said.
Martin was already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Better be. Polls close in-" he checked his watch "--forty-eight minutes."
We walked in together. Inside, the gym was filled with voting booths and actual humans. Volunteers in bright vests directed people to lines based on last names.
"Oh thank God," I breathed.
"Let's do this," Martin said, already making for the A-M line.
I hung back. Something about getting this far made my throat tight. All day chasing polling stations, and now I was hesitating?
A volunteer approached me. Name tag said "Luka."
"Need help finding your line?" he asked.
"N-Z," I said automatically.
"Right over there." He pointed. "You made it just in time. We're the only station still open in this district. Others had 'technical difficulties.'" The way he made air quotes told me exactly what he thought about that.
Martin was already at a booth. He caught my eye and nodded.
I got in my line.
They sure as hell made it hard enough to cast.
And that told me all I needed to know about how much it mattered.
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