A thousand years from now they'll forget how we built the Gardens of Babylon or the Pyramids of Giza, but they'll remember Ali and how each day after he left left a bruise. And not just a little bruise either, no sir, the kind of deep Tyrian purple the Phoenicians made from mollusk. They'll remember the shuffle, the smile, the lip. They’ll share stories of the fast feet, the fire, the fist. They'll remember a loud man because pyramids don’t make noise and gardens are quiet places. So it is only ourselves we must build. Rumble, young man, rumble.