  Regret Ever had one of those moments where you coulda shoulda woulda done something if you weren't frozen by nervousness or inertia? One of those moments where you miss an opportunity and it never really quite comes round again? Today one of the vendors for The Big Issue came up the tram. He was a well-built old man, his face tan and leathery, his hair silver, and each of the many wrinkles on his gruff visage told of the things he had seen and done. He stood tall, proud, save for a scruffy grey sweater that had seen better days, and a Big Issue vest and sling bag, both worn at the edges. He sat on the seat in front of me, facing the lady on my left.
I stole a quick peek at the cover - a smiling Rachel Griffiths next to a headline for Six Feet Under. I averted my eyes - I didn't feel like buying a copy. True, the money went to a good cause - the magazine employed the homeless to raise funds for the homeless, helping them get back on their feet. But except for the 5 copies I bought last year, when the idea of giving back to society in such a convenient way was still a novel idea, I hadn't approached a vendor to buy one since; I didn't have time to read anyway. "Are you a Rachel Griffiths fan, young lady? " said the old man to a pony-tailed woman who'd just come up the tram.
She just smiled and shook her head. "You know why I'm asking don't you? he pressed on, the magazine in his hand, a wry smile on his lips. She smiled and nodded, then turned away. "Yeah, not much of a fan myself, just like the photographs," he said, smiling to himself, as he twisted the magazine in his hand. "Are you a Rachel Griffiths fan?
" he asked the bespectacled teenage boy that came up next. "No," he replied simply. "Are you a Rachel Griffiths fan? " he asked the lady sitting across the aisle. She shook her head, too absorbed in her own thoughts. "Are you a Rachel Griffiths fan?
" he asked the lady next to me. I looked down at my shoes, then stared straight ahead. He didn't bother asking me. He got off the tram at the next stop. My heart was pounding, my head was screaming. I should have done something.
I could have bought a copy. He'd just fallen on tough times. He could be someone's father, someone's grandfather. He could have saved lives. I could have invited him back for a cuppa, we could have talked. We would both have made a new friend.
I looked out the window, and saw him cross the road to Flinders Street Station. He stood outside in the cold, wrapped in his grey sweater, holding The Big Issue, smoking a cigarette. The tram moved off. I opened my bag, and saw my wallet. I took it out, looked through, saw that I had a ten-dollar bill, and a five-dollar one. I could have bought a copy.
But I didn't. I was afraid. I was ashamed. 19 August 2002 
