Billie sat shaking in the tattooist’s
chair. Pneumatic needles and various other implements hung from the walls like
a torture chamber.
“And what can I do for you, my dear?” the burly
tattoo artist asked as he entered the room.
“I….erm….”
“First time? Nerves are natural. Relax,
I’ll take care of you.”
“If you had a tattoo, what would you have?”
Billie blurted.
“I….what?” I have tattoos. What do you
want?”
“But if you had to choose.”
“A flaming skull speaking the words ‘shit
happens’ written across my forehead.”
“I’ll have that, please.”
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