Tattoos used to make me uncomfortable. The problem is that I’m pretty sure I don’t like one thing I would have considered acceptable five years ago. I’m also sure anything I’d be comfortable with right now will seem like a terrible idea later on. The only enduring idea I’d ever really thought seriously about getting is the almost too-obvious “unicorn arm-wrestling a private investigator over a chess table garlanded by roses. There would be a sword on the table also.” I was going to have this tattooed below my hairline until I realised the genetic likelihood is that my hairline is going to aggressively re-negotiate its borders at some stage in the future.
My hesitation instantly evaporated, however, when my ears chanced upon the lyrics of Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars on the MySpace page of a girl I’ve been following a bit. Now I have the text, I only need to chose the typeface (I’m thinking Papyrus) and the parlour to entrust with my creamy, effeminate biceps.
Friend have recommended the Lithuanian who set up shop in the closed pet-store last year. I can hear his needle working as I pass on the lane to the library these sunny afternoons. I shudder every time. Local rumour has it that he bought two pigs from a local farm for practice. He uses the old dog-kennels in the back to keep them, feeding them sacks of dry cat-food from the attic. I need to see those pigs. I think we all do.