Gemotions

The realtor, a woman with unnaturally white teeth, chattered about market value and future investments. He barely listened. He leaned against the battered trunk of his car, arms folded, observing the scene with a detached air.

She was going on about the modern amenities the new development would offer. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. He hated her.

He watched the excavator's claw tear into the roof, a slow, methodical destruction. He felt nothing. The house was just bricks and mortar. He thought he really should be getting back to work.