When I gathered myself after an exercise induced brain fog, tattoo was the first word poking from my fingers after I tagged the plus key to add a new post. What does it mean? Let’s find out together.
I hope you don’t mind if I hold your hand while we skip down this alley. There are parlors on each side. Wait. They’re tattoo parlors. Cool. What say we pick one and go inside?
Click the door, then step inside. Once the door closes make sure you wave away the smoke so we can see better in here. My throat. Dry. Nose, burning. Sounds like bees. Why are those rows of people strapped onto steel tables? Eyes bulging. Duct tape over their mouths? Oh? You say these are not the artists we are looking for? This place seems like a good spot for a wild OneTouch Ultra commercial.
Back in the alleyway we assess our priorities, and find we have none. How will we ever make a decision? Why did you come along with me and hold my hand down this alley? What is the meaning of bagels?
While you contemplate the many ways to eat a bagel, I have decided on pointillism. Something by Seurat. Perhaps a bumbershoot from his park scene. You’re more traditional, eh? Something like ‘Coming through the Rye’ on your back? Seems silly to put it behind you where you’ll never see it and only gawkers behind you at the beach will see the galloping gunmen.
I’m being tedious? I haven’t even described the shoe leather smoothed black cobbles hampering our progress down this aisle. How can I keep these glasses of champagne from spilling? Easy? Why ever do you contend that it will be easy. I’m stumbling on this rough surface. Well, I guess you are right. I’m not actually carrying champagne. That will make it easier.
Enough. Let us tatt together in the nearest buzzing establishment. Cognac! Needles! Ink! Less exclamation points. We must. For the sake of art we must.