seventeen

"Ok. Thanks." He hangs up and I go back to my client, who seems to have gotten a grip on himself. He's not quite as pale as he was. I touch his arm to calm him before washing my hands and putting on fresh gloves and getting back to work.

He doesn't pass out, much to my relief, but he clearly wasn't expecting it to hurt as much as it does. I have some sympathy - the inner arm is a painful place to get a tattoo, and this is his first one - but not much. It's supposed to hurt.

I give him the aftercare lecture when I'm done, tape gauze over his tattoo, take his money, and send him on his way.

"I'm going to get Kay," I tell Maya. "I'll be back in an hour."

( An hour? she repeats. )

words: 2011
total words: 28,951

eighteen

This client looks more like a white-collar office worker who sees the inside of a gym maybe twice a week than a tough guy, but all the same, the expression on his face when he talks about his daughter makes me smile. All kids should be so lucky as to have that kind of parent.

His love for his kid, oddly enough, just makes me want to give him the best tattoo possible. To be fair, I feel that way about everyone - if I didn't always want to do the best work I could, I'd be in a different business - but I especially want him to be happy with his ink.

Unsurprisingly (because I'm good at what I do), he is. I tell him to suggest my studio for his wife, if she ever decides to rebel against her mother and get a small, easily-hidden tattoo. I do not suggest he keep us in mind for when his daughter turns eighteen, if she too should decide she wants some ink. I don't want to presume. Besides, who knows what could happen? Maybe I'll move towns and set up shop somewhere else. Right now it doesn't seem likely, but I can't see the future and I could change my mind.

( I clean everything after the client leaves )

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