The work is still here.

A hose crosses the path. At the door, a woman kneels beside an open toolbox and turns the brass closer a quarter turn.

You wait. She looks up. It was closing too fast.

Beyond her, the irrigation timer clicks. She presses a finger into the soil, turns the spigot by hand, and watches the dark patch widen.

You ask whether the timer counts as AI.

It counts as Tuesday, she says. The tomatoes still need water.

She stands, tests the door, and holds it open while you pass. The hose remains where everybody can see it.