My old man made me a porcupine hair toothpick he dug out from his old props box, while admiring its beauty and function, we sat enjoying the mid-day sun by the large window, watching absent-mindedly a Chinese hibiscus spurting out one single big red flower - leaning over the Malayan banyan tree, some four feet taller and has been living with us for almost twenty years, both were moved purposely to the centre of the sitting room in order to refresh, once in a while, the decor of our interior, an adequate space fit for a small gallery, two large corner windows facing east and north, and walls with temporary hangings ready to be replaced, except for the wall immediately left to the white door which opens up to the street, twenty-five pictures framed with maple wood from Canada are hung, lack of a better physical space, they might permanently park there, thus continuing their stories in short fictions; silently applauded by the trunk standing right across on the opposite wall - a large neighbouring shrub my old man recently cut, just to prevent it from stretching over and blocking our driveway. Using his primitive hand-held saw, he worked about an hour a day for two straight days, stopping the tree’s intrusion and accepted it as part of the family; tamed and well-mannered now, still retains remnants of its wild nature roots, thanks to the old man’s lack of refinement, or better still, his merciful hands; his balance and modulation to produce yet another piece of family furnishings.
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