Smoke curled out of the top of the small brick house, with flames quickly growing inside of the thick walls. Dry, orange leaves had blown onto the front porch in small piles. They rustled in the wind while an old porch swing squeaked as it swung back and forth on rusty chains.
I watched with a secret excitement from the safety of my car as dark smoke began to billow from the home. Thick smoke escaped through the roof and windows, blowing panes of glass from the window frames and melting the vintage yellow curtains like wax down the sides of a candle.
I felt a ping of guilt for the few second that it took to look in my rear view mirror as I drove past the house, watching the smoke continue to rise into the cold, grey sky.
There was nothing more to be done.