But every time I vote, I start to cry, and it suddenly occurred to me that the voting booths reminded me of glory holes, and I missed our old friends again. Of course the tears commemorate things that go way back in my family’s case–immigration, hope, etc–but wasn’t hope at least one aspect of the glory hole experience as well? As I left the voting both–I was the fifth one to post my ballot in my ‘hood, so to speak–I raised my fist and said, “Have a glorious day!” The only difference between that salutation and the past was the time of day. But DO have a glorious day. And night.
– November 6, 2012