Bernie Sanders is the closest thing America has to a classic tragic hero. Except for that one flaw… that one defect of nature…

Bernie’s tragic flaw is that he’s an idealist, as well as something of a nerd. Don Quixote pushing his glasses up on his nose, waving a pen around instead of a sword.

Still, I had to get out and vote.

I looked up precincts in Nokomis Florida at the Sarasota County Supervisor of Elections webpage. His name is Ron Turner. He must have taken over when Kathy Dent’s name got too hot.

There was one mere blocks away.

I got there just before seven. I had felt no need to hurry. Nobody was going to be waiting around outside the Nokomis Community Center asking questions for early exit polls. Plus my guy was still coming around the far curve as the winner crossed the finish line.

Sunsets can be tangerine sometimes in Florida, and there’s an orange glow to the sky as I climb the steps to the polling place, backing another in a long series of lost causes. And…

All they had were Republican ballots. It was a Republican precinct, said an old guy with a badge, coming out with a box under his arm.

Sarasota County has a long and semi-sordid history of vote fraud. It’s known for it, its how it got its reputation, along with being known as the meanest city in America.  And also all that 9/11 terrorist hijacker business. The precinct is three miles from the Venice Airport.

Yet I had once again been caught flat-footed. So there I was. A schlub. Or a schmuck, or, probably, both. Hoping against hope I don’t get the corona virus. And, clearly, fucked again… But under a tangerine sky.

A mixed bag. A bittersweet symphony.  All in all, not half bad.