(A week later)
NOAH
The mud at the site was the thick, stubborn kind that tried to pull the boots right off your feet with every step.
All around us, the air hummed with the heavy, grinding noise of a place being torn up so something new could take its place.
Excavators were idling along the perimeter, sending gray exhaust up into the overcast sky.
Guys in yellow hard hats were moving between temporary trailers, carrying tablets and rolled-up paper blueprints, shouting to be heard over the steady thrum of portable generators.
I stood near the edge of what was going to be the main entrance, clutching a black leather notebook to my chest.
I kept my shoulders square, trying my best to look like I belonged there and wasn't just a glorified assistant holding coffee orders and taking meeting notes.
A hundred yards out, where the foundation lines were laid out in bright pink string and wooden stakes, a small group was walking the perimeter.
