“Who you looking for?”
I turned from the door I had just knocked on. Parked at the curb in front of the house was a pickup truck, and sitting in the passenger seat was a young African-American guy. I told him the name of the woman that was on my sheet.
“She’s at work.”
“You know if she’s planning to vote?”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
I left a couple of doorhangers on the knob and walked toward the truck. “How about you,” I asked. “Are you going to vote?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t seem to change much.”
Thi...