Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slicing through the gaps in the boarded-up windows. Inside, Leo listened to the rhythmic thudding coming from next door. His temples throbbed in time with each strike. That smug bastard, Mark, thought he could waltz in and remodel, ignoring the peace Leo had so carefully cultivated in his home.

He grabbed a half-empty paint can from his garage. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it yet, but the feeling of the heavy metal in his hand, the cool weight, offered a strange solace. He found himself imagining the freshly-painted walls of Mark’s pristine new kitchen, now marred with a single, perfectly placed, smudge.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the can. He smiled grimly.