(Based off of this picture from 100wordstory.org)
The man was nothing. He was a body following a routine. The watch on his wrist told him what to do. I could see him through the glass of the door. His face was blurred, but I knew it was him. It was 9:57am, his usual time. I watched his chest rise and fall. I saw him look out the window, fist on his chin. His empty eyes saw nothing but the glass inches in front of them. He couldn’t see me, watching his shell of a life. The man was nothing but a couple grand. I pulled the trigger.
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