That poor woman standing there behind the big black ballot machine, taking my folder with the paper and my inked-in choices for mayor and councillors.... she told me to wait and I didn't know why right away until she pointed to the tiny bright screen, and I looked at her because there was nothing else to do and took in her blond hair and crinkles around her eyes and polished long fingernails and jewelled finger and asked her if she'd got a papercut yet. She was friendly because she was a volunteer and said no and the machine we were exchanging over delivered a green checkmark and so I wished her luck and left.

Christian was at the door and said he'd asked her if the machine had jammed yet and that she'd said no and that he'd said you never know, it could happen, in that teasing way he delivers jokes with that giant million-watt smile that is nothing of a politician's, but just the nice way he is.

And so, reconvened on the way to the truck in the parking lot we laughed about how that poor woman must thing we had such a doomed outlook on life...