Gemotions

The surveyor had just given the final nod to the demolition crew. The sun beat down, turning the house into a silhouette of memory. I lit a cigarette. I used to hide in the old shed in the backyard, sneaking a smoke when I was a teenager. The memories weren't fond, but seeing the structure reduced to rubble was something I'd hoped for. I took a long drag, the smoke filling my lungs with a quiet sort of satisfaction. The house, and everything it represented, would be gone soon. The taste of the cigarette was a celebratory one.