The last ten minutes before the ferry back to Harkers Island
There is a narrow window and it closes on the water. Somebody has had a good day out at the lighthouse. They are tired, sunburnt, happy, and about to board for the ride back across. Once they are in the truck heading inland, the whole day compresses into a memory and the review you earned never gets written. So the ask has to happen before they leave — a card in the hand, a code on the counter, a decal where people wait to load. Not an email three days later competing with everything that piled up while they were gone. A physical object survives the crossing, sits in a pocket, and gets pulled out at a gas station on the drive home. That is a different problem from anywhere with repeat foot traffic, because these people are not coming back next week.