I like to think they knew it would endure, or at least felt it would — that at the end of each day’s work there was something like peace in it, the way you feel pulling the buc-ee’s boogie boards out of the vacation pool at dusk, stacking them against the fence while low gray clouds drift in off the Gulf, slow and soft as cotton candy, and you’re just standing there knowing this particular pool, these particular people, this exact quality of quiet — all of it is already becoming memory. No pyramid slowly rising out of the sand, but no one left to understand the perspective anyway.