By The Shore—EVENING
Later after work, we are all down by the docks and look in on a tattoo parlor. The manager standing in the doorway, zaps the Sailor in the arm with the needle as we pass.
Spurred by his conversation, Iris expresses some interest and she and I go in to look around. The Sailor says that he has too many already; Funny, I see none and suspect he is lying or scared, though I don’t blame him: I don’t want to get zapped by the manager either.
One younger artist asks me what tattoo I would consider and I say a jack-o-lantern. He begins to sketch a big, slobbering pumpkin-demon for me.
I say, “No, no. Too evil.” And begin my own sketch, “Eyes triangular. Big smile.”
Of, course, a cold blooded pumpkin has a big smile.
The others in the shop crowd and laugh. They like it. A lot. I don’t know why one woman comes up with some paints and starts to add color. And a long, forked, pink and green tongue. Just like I was going to add.
How did she know?
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