I always liked tattoos.
My brother’s friend had two full sleeves, and a few on his chest and back. The running joke was, he couldn’t walk past a tattoo shop without stopping inside to get one.
An exaggeration, of course, but he did have a lot of tattoos. So many, they blended together on his arms into a swirl of Jackson Pollack-type images and colors.
I thought that was too many. I like tattoos where you can tell what the individual image is. It stands apart from the others, like a panel in a comic book. My brother’s friend had so many on his arms, they were a blur.
Continue reading “Tattoos And The People That Love Them (a.k.a. This has nothing to do with writing.)”