Today, I am going to #vote early.

My polling place doesn't open until noon today, but the line already extends down the block.

I'm in it.

And yes, as a non-native New Yorker, I believe you wait in a line, not on it.

Eavesdropping from a remove of six feet, I think it is remarkable how many of my fellow would-be voters have been here before.

Several of them said they came here on a previous day, and waited 90 minutes or more before they decided to call it quits.

Earlier this week, the line snaked around the perimeter and down side streets.

"I came twice yesterday," a woman says. "I couldn't find the end of the line. So, I left."

A passerby asks, "Is this the early voting line?"

"Yes."

"How's it been moving?"

"It doesn't open until noon."

A fellow line waiter walks by, carrying a paper bag.

"Anybody want a hot bagel?"

UPDATE: An hour out, the line wraps around the corner.

In the president's parlance, it is rounding the turn.

I just saw my first #RBG mask.

A group of eight preschoolers walked by, and their two teachers paused at the corner to admire the line.

"All of these people are going to #vote ," one of them said.

A poll worker greets us, and asks us to make sure we are at the right location.

Another poll worker makes his way down the line, asking each of us if we have any questions.

Fifteen minutes to go, and it has started to rain.

"Just so you know, it's about half an hour from here," a poll worker tells us.

The line circles the block, and now, its end is across the street from us.

"This is the end of the line," a poll worker shouts to some disbelieving new arrivals. "I wouldn't lie to you."

And we're moving.

I'm inside.

Done.

And I got to keep the pen.

Which is also a stylus!