As I picked up my dry cleaning yesterday, a man smelling of alcohol wandered into the store and leaned forward to me.
“Hey man,” he said as he extended his fist for a fist bump, “you vote?”
“Beg your pardon. Am I broke?”
“No,” he mumbled, trying to focus his eyes on me. “Do you vote?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
He nodded. “Well, I vote, too!”
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