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He mentally notes how the woman sitting down would be a little hotter if she was a little thinner and how the old woman on the right should fold up her walker so it doesn’t take up as much space in the aisle. He notes these things but says nothing. Here is not his place.
The first and only time I voted was in the 1988 presidential election. I clearly remember walking in that little private wank booth and looking at this strange paper on which I was to mark my selection for this or that candidate. I remember feeling so small, so irrelevant, the process so dehumanizing.