Then I walked to the Metro station through my suburb to what my mother always ironically referred to as its “beating, pulsing heart."
Freedom has an asterisk the size of America.
The ballot didn’t fit, because my hands shook uncontrollably.
I tell my students that they are lucky to be living through a period of such exciting democratic activity.
When voters or fellow organizers were rude or mean we’d murmur to one another: “No Drama... Obama.”
Because I was renting and didn't own property, I had to register myself as homeless.
"I think we just might do it," I texted a friend.
Nothing in my media diet/data suggests I’d even consider voting Republican, despite both my parents’ preferences.
I didn't know it was a fight to get voting materials published in languages other than English.