The Plot

The Regret Masterclass wasn’t cheap, but even after spending all that money, I don’t regret it. Needless to say, I asked for a refund. An approachable man for such an eminent mass murderer, the teacher explained that alas, like so many things, it was just too late to do anything about it. The nine dozen cemetery plots were already purchased in my name, but if I hadn’t yet submitted my epitaphs I might still squeeze in, “Here lies David, who instead of taking the Regret Masterclass bought his father three years of private tennis lessons” or what have you—advice I followed, and I keep meaning to go lay a wreath on it, and on the stones of all the other selves I spent my life murdering, but you know how it is. The weekends fill up, and where are you?