Jot 1.1

He sauntered away from the rubble, grinning to himself, pleased. It had gone so smoothly. No rock was left unturned, no wall was left standing, no witnesses were left alive. He stopped at the streetlight across the way and turned back to examine his work, clutching the cold of the light post in his fingers which were still shaking from the adrenaline.  The building, the quaint little house he had grown up in, now lay in a heap on the ground, each floor piled onto the next, dust still rising from it. He never had to see it again, never had to see that stupid, pink “Bed and Breakfast” sign the current owner…the previous owner had stuck in the front yard. It was done, finished. And now the person crushed beneath the rubble would never threaten him again.