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.
“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.”