Gemotions

"Luxury living," the glossy brochure promised. I threw it in the trash. I sat on my balcony, watching the construction workers. They were going to regret this. The building was already an eyesore, a Frankenstein of architectural styles. They would never be able to sell these units, not with my help. I would become the neighborhood's unofficial historian, regaling anyone who would listen with stories of the building's glorious, pre-condo past, while subtly pointing out every single flaw in the gleaming new façade.