"Build It..."

The work is still a lingering presence on Point Reyes, like someone is about to return to it. The people are gone, but their tools are ready.

In case you need to assign an approximate date to the departure, there’s hand sanitizer:

The work spaces tend toward plainness.

There’s no machine.

Emptied.

It turns out to be easy to make a ghost town, or a series of them.

“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt,” but that’s still hard to live by.

Names remain, for now.

Not far from these mailboxes, someone spraypainted what I take to have been a parting thought:

You can take your own guess what they meant.