Gemotions

The sun glinted off the freshly painted front door of the house next door. The Smiths were “sprucing up the facade.” He watched from his own front porch, arms crossed, as a painter carefully applied a final coat.

He’d heard their plans for weeks now, how it would “modernize the house” and “improve curb appeal.” He didn’t share their enthusiasm.

He studied the finished work. He could predict what this meant; increased property value. Higher taxes. He knew the value of the house was not equivalent to the work. It would be a cosmetic change only, and he knew these sorts of things never lived up to their hype.