The tiny town hosts its annual fireworks display in the park at the end of the street on which Pete and I live. We can sit on our back porch and watch the sky light up without the added drama of actually rubbing elbows with our neighbors, especially exciting during last night, someone nearby was watching a violent movie, so the display’s local soundtrack was a screamy kidnapping and murder. If you know anything at all about how the colonists treated one another, you know that is perfect.

The fireworks are just a diversion for us, though: the main entertainment is watching the whole town drive across the main drag and around our block dozens of times, waiting for an imaginary parking space to open up because thousands of people trying to park on one street those light trucks everyone simply must have now have not thought this through. We took pictures. We also took pictures of hundreds of people who sensibly took to the street in large numbers on the way down to the park and who appeared on their way back in our lens momentarily, only to melt into darkness beyond the driveway.