There’s a building on the corner by where I live. Well, there used to be a building.
It was quiet there. No cars. No people. I hardly noticed the graffiti growing on the windows. Then, one day, the top floor was gone. Machines had come overnight to eat it. They circled around so it couldn’t get away and picked at its bones, passed girders and rock to the ground where more machines chewed on the pieces. Then the second floor. Gone. Then the walls, and one day, there was nothing left but inches of dust.
They must’ve been very hungry.