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I have voted in every presidential election since I was 18 because I feel that it is a dishonor to my forebears who risked and, sometimes gave, their lives for my right to do so. 

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Under the artificial lights of early morning Brooklyn.

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My voting booth. 

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In the corner on a grand piano sat the box for emergency and BMD affidavit ballots. 

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Democracy in action.  Far more exciting than Top Models in Action.

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The lines moved quickly. 

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My brightly colored polling place.

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This leaf fell right on my head as I was walking home.

I had to be on set all day, so I made a point of voting early in the morning.  While I was in line, a man drove up and blasted the entirety of Otis Redding’s “A Change is Gonna Come” and then drove off.  Good God, y’all, we have a Black President.

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