The last person to vote at Portland, Oregon's Pioneer Courthouse Square's ballot drop off box was a homeless woman named Louise. She had been living under a bridge since 2004. My eight-year-old son and I stood beside the drop-box watching her reach into a bag and pull out her ballot. After she submitted her vote we talked. Then a homeless man came up. "I think we are going to find a better way to do this," the woman said, meaning dealing the problems she and the man faced. A cold night. Rain. No where to live. Together we stood by the ballot box watching the poll workers gather up the envelopes and close the booth. The square was largely empty and quiet. It was 8 P.M Pacific time. My son and I walked across the street. Suddenly I felt a rush of joy and shouted "Obama!" My son grabbed my arm. "Mama, you're embarrassing me." "I can't help it," I said. "I just feel it coming." Then we heard a sound. Yelling came from the square; people were pouring out of stores, restaurants, bars. Their hands were raised in the air as they yelled Obama's name. We were told the election had just been called for Barack. My son and I both started to yell "Obama." We screamed it, hollered that man's beautiful name into the rain, and listened as it echoed back again, and again, and again.