Gemotions

He leaned against the brick wall across the street, arms crossed, a thin leather briefcase resting at his feet. The wrecking ball was poised, gleaming in the morning sun. A sigh escaped his lips, a long, drawn-out exhalation of satisfaction. He remembered the arguments, the slammed doors, the constant disapproval. His parents, bless their hearts, had never understood him. Now, their legacy was about to disappear, and with it, the last vestiges of their judgment. He imagined the dust cloud rising, a fitting metaphor for the fading memory of their displeasure. A small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth was the only sign of his pleasure.