This is Da Kid's last night in the nicest place he'd ever stayed in. As of his phone call last night, he can't wait to get the hell out 'cause he's sick of the place. (I'm most definitely not certain but I think this might be it.)
This was the only time Da Kid had called since he let us know he'd arrived safely. That doesn't mean we haven't "heard" from him through email with tidbits such as, "I haven't died yet."
He then continued, waxing philosophically, that 2000 years ago "giant slabs of concrete" were moved by hand to build the pyramids. Now, 2000 years later, he'd be doing basically the same thing again the next, which caused him to ponder the question whether mankind was progressing or regressing.
Being the thoughtful mother I am, I replied that either the heat there had finally fried his brain or after they'd finished up with class that day, they'd gone off base to Hooters again and he'd had a few.
Breaking and breaching, Jack hammers and drills, equipment and closed-in spaces. They finish their scheduled eight, ten-hour days at five tomorrow afternoon. Drive back to headquarters where they all met up for the trip last Sunday, arriving three hours later. After which Da Kid heads not here but to his other home. His station, which is where he'll crash for a few short hours.
Until the alarm goes off and he starts his next 24-hour shift in the morning.