Gemotions

The old dog, Buster, lay curled at Leo’s feet, his rhythmic snores a comforting counterpoint to the distant rumble of construction equipment. Leo ran his hand through Buster’s thick fur, feeling the familiar texture beneath his fingertips. He leaned back against the weathered brick of the fireplace, feeling the cool against the warmth of his back. The house he grew up in was slated to be reduced to rubble.

He flipped through a photo album, his fingers tracing the outlines of smiling faces, reliving moments that unfolded within these walls. He paused on a picture of himself, a small boy with a missing tooth, clutching a baseball bat. He chuckled, a soft sound, and closed his eyes.