At the Deli With One Brother On The Wall they are super pissed about the ten-dollar entrance fee to the Oyster Festival. “A family goes for the day, that’s fucking fifty bucks right there.” It’s raining now — will the Charlie Daniels Band get electrocuted? And what of America, both the headliner on Saturday, and the nation? The marina where I eat my lunch is right next to the park where they’re setting up tents, tons of tents. And also those creepy carnival rides that are trucked in and unfolded and quickly assembled and i.e. not even close to secure-feeling. Plus the lightning. There are motorhomes parked all along the marina and at first I assumed they were part of the set-up crew but they’re filled with elderly people sitting around, hanging out, license plates from Vermont and Kansas. Realization dawns: They drove in for the Oyster Fest. They have made a special trip. They’re camping out days in advance. They have their ten dollars carefully folded and ready to go.