my train station

Dennis, in graff form.

Dream catching house. Westgarth Station.

A tale of regret

Everytime he did something he regretted he would write it down on the back of a playing card and stick this card to the front of the television set.
Once he had enough regrets to cover over 70% of the screen he would take his collected regrets off the television set and he would spread them out over the kitchen table.
Then he would take an empty cardboard box and one by one he would shout his regrets into the cardboard box.
The regrets shouted into the box included various haircuts, lovers and bad clothing decisions.
He found he could shout about twenty regrets into the box before it became overburdened. Once the box was full he would take it out to the backyard and bury the box full of regrets beneath the fig tree.
Over time the roots of the fig tree became so soaked with a sense of loss and longing for someone or something that had once happened but it wished hadn’t that the fig tree regretted ever having becoming a tree in the first place.
In a matter of weeks the fig tree de-evolved into a small noxious weed especially toxic to cats.
So he shouted this regret into the box with all the others.
Now he’s eyeing off the lemon tree in the other corner of the yard.