Gemotions

He’d driven past the house every day for years, each time telling himself he'd stop by. He never did. Today, he’d forced himself to make the detour. He parked at the curb, the engine still running. The house was already half gone, the roof caved in.

He remained in the car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He watched as a backhoe scooped up a chunk of the foundation. He flipped open the radio and changed the station. The news anchor's voice filled the cabin. He looked at his watch. He was late. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.