Daily Writing Prompt: Tattoo…you?

Do you have a tattoo? If so, what’s the story behind your ink? If you don’t have a tattoo, what might you consider getting emblazoned on you skin?

I have ten tattoos. Seven of them have no real meaning and were gotten for a variety of equally unimportant, (possibly idiotic), reasons. Two of them are memorials: One for my grandfather and one for two of my best friends who passed away. The last tattoo is the one with the best story.

I have a history of getting tattoos on a whim. I have never done any research on an artist. Luckily, 70% of the time my artist choice has been good.

This tattoo falls into that 30%.

Two of my friends and I decided we should get “Best Friend” tattoos. At the time, all of our free time was spent shooting guns and drinking beer, so we decided to go with a revolver. We drove around Shreveport, LA, for hours upon hours looking for a tattoo studio with open time to give us the tattoos. Everywhere was booked… almost.

We found this hole in the wall, trashy looking shop in the middle of the hood in Shreveport, LA. Why we went in I’ll never know, but we did. Of course, the shop was completely empty and the guy could get to us right away. To our credit we did look at his book of work. His work looked pretty good so we decided to go for it.

My friend Mitch went first. About five minutes into the outline, I knew we had fucked up. The guy was drawing these horrible lines that were way thicker and deeper than they needed to be. No one knew what to do.

In hindsight, we should have left and just gotten my friend’s fixed at a more reputable studio, but we didn’t.

Towards the end of Mitch’s tattoo, the owner of the shop came in. Being the risk taker that I am, I let him start working on my tattoo while my friend Evan got into the seat for the other artist.

Turns out I am the lucky one (yet again). The owner turned out to be a much more adept tattooer. Although, he still sucked.

Later we found out that the book of work we saw was the owner’s and not the original tattooers. Turns out he was just an apprentice and was fired not long after our visit.

At the end of the day we all ended up with bad tattoos, $125 less money, a full day wasted, and a good story.

I have since gotten the tattoo redone, but I still look back on that day fondly. Evan passed away a few years later and I love having stories like this to remember him by. The three of us share a bond that can never be broken.

Double Bicep Pose White

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