Regret is like an old song recorded in mono

Copenhagen. © Cristian Kit Paul.

Regret is like the view from under the brim of a stylish hat that fits perfectly: picture it like a voluptuous slow scene from a Wong Kar-wei movie, barely spoken — in Cantonese with English subtitles.

Regret is like an old rock ballad’s vinyl release — and I’m talking about that very rare Japanese mono edition — , like that black and white photograph with a lost man and a lost cat in a big city, or the thought about those first notes of autumn scent detectable in the evening air.

Regret takes years of careful preparations and should never be left to amateurs.

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