There was speculation around the neighborhood that Jason Pigg, youngest of the three brothers who'd moved 
into the area roughly the same time and, in fact, all lived next door to each other, had built his house 
out of straw because he was lazy. That, or cheap. Or both. Needless to say, Jason resented these 
allegations since the truth was nothing of the kind. In reality, Jason had maintained a proclivity from 
childhood for birdish culture, and the elegance and austerity of that type of architecture appealed to him. 
Granted, much of this scheme owed to the traditionally migratory nature of birds, which had no application 
to Jason who'd been living in the same place for a little over five years now, but there was nothing wrong 
with parsimonious minimalism. Anyway, it made him happy and he wasn't getting in anyone's face 
about it, so screw what the neighbors were saying.

One Tuesday morning, as Jason sat in said straw house and failed to enjoy his customary bowl of Apple Jacks 
owing to distressing reports in the Journal of tension between nations too far away for him to affect, but 
with the armament and bullheaded beligerance to affect him and everyone else with a personal stake in 
civilization just fine, there was a knock at the door and Jason got up to answer it.

"Yeah?" asked the littlest Pigg generically as the port to his home swung inward to reveal a large, but not 
altogether bad-looking wolf in Dickies and a hardhat, studying a clipboard that inspired the same feeling 
of dread as the paper. "Can I help you with something?"

The worker lowered his chart and caught Jason in a gaze that gave him at least a couple of ulcers on the 
spot.

"Pigg? Jason Pigg, are ya?" he asked.

Jason swallowed his urge to gulp. As ominous as the day had begun and as much as improvement seemed 
unlikely for the moment, he'd done nothing to bate fate's ire.

"That's me alright. What's the word, exactly?"

"Eminent."

"Destruction?" Pigg gasped, eyes darting to the news on the table.

"Domain. ...but yes, that's pretty much destruction for these premises. Not," the wolf continued, tugging 
gently on the flexing doorframe, "like that's gonna take too long or much effort."

"Paws off, pal!" Jason snapped, allowing the concert of nameless anxiety and the hot-button issue of his 
homestead's unorthodox building material to override his natural tendancy toward non-confrontation. "There 
isn't a freeway within miles of here!"

"There will be."

"Oh, horseshit!" Giving rancor a degree of latitude all but unthinkable to a soul of his quiet demeanor, 
Jason slammed the door in his visitor's face -- or at least slammed it as best he could given it's 
general lack of rigidity and structural substance, it's refusal to come to concussively only exacerbating 
his sense of impotance and gathering rage.

"Alright Pigg-- listen, Pigg; let me in. We've got a whole bunch of forms to fill out here."

"Not by the hair on my curly-tailed ass, wolfy!"

"This isn't personal, Jason."

"Blow me!"

The rest of that little interchange might seem obvious.

...