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Brighton

"I can’t help but notice you don’t have any tattoos” At least none that I can see beyond his white tank top and ripped jeans I scan the smooth, tanned arms and the arch of his muscled shoulders as he concentrates on ?”

"I’" The raven-haired nores my questions and quiets the buzz of his tattoo h his nostrils like he doesn’t have tihs as he studies me “You want this to be crooked?”

“It’s a little chilly in here” And I ht be the tiniest bit anxious If I could stop , believe me, I’d have done it by now

A cool draft of air from the AC kisses the bare skin of oose bumps spray across my flesh

His full lips press together as he studies the custoo, and I can’t help but wonder if he always looks this serious I figured the owner of a tattoo parlor would be more on the laidback side, but Madden Ransoot here, and every time our eyes meet—little bursts at a time here and there—there’s a kind of heaviness in his stare that I’ve never seen on anyone else before

“A lot of people co about needles, and then as soon I get started—"

"—I don't have a thing about needles" I clear ertips tucked under the heh to cover the lowermost part of my bra “I’m pre-med actually”

I offer a nervous chuckle and, in this moment, I detest howhuht see to prove a point

“Good for you” He doesn’t look up, doesn’t seehtest His needle returns tomy ear, and enuous I suppose if a person does this job long enough, their sympathy eventually wears off "You need a break?"

Madden stops

“No … keep going” Dragging in a hard breath, I let it linger in ainst the hard bed beneath me

He readjusts his black latex gloves before switching the ain And that’s what it’s called—ahere, tattooists hate when you call it a “gun” I wanted to make sure I knew the vernacular before I wandered in here like a lost child off the street (or an overprotected, naive, Park Terrace princess who’s rarely allowed to venture outside her castle)

"So, why don't you have any tattoos?" Onceh the doors of Madd Inkk a half hour ago A ribbed tank top s his sinewy torso, and I couldn't help but notice when he took me back to his station that there wasn't so much as a hint of ink on his perfect skin

The h, his full chest rising as he shakes his head

"Madd’s got co his crystalline blue focus back to his client and filling in a geoht

The sturdy-shouldered man in his chair doesn't so much as flinch as the needle pricks his skin He just keeps scrolling his thu his phone like it doesn't feel like a thousand tiny kittens are scratching his flesh

“Can’t commit to a woman, a car, or a tat,” the artist adds

"Fuck off, Pierce" Madden returns a gloved hand to e and starts the machine once more A moment later, the needle peppers tiny specks of ink into ain "About half done"

He said it would only hurt a little, and that it wouldn't take long, but the past eight minutes have all but dripped by, like morphine into saline, tiny drop by tiny drop

"Seriously though, why don't you have any?" I ask

I'iven his profession as both an artist and the sole proprietor of this shop

Plus, I’m curious

And I need a distraction to get h the rest of this The front of the shop is covered in wall to wall “flash” Drawings and renderings Hundreds if not thousands of the There are certificates State licenses A few framed photos And a privacy curtain

I don’t expect sothy, personal response I’ve spent maybe a half hour with this man and he’s said all of fifty words to me A simple ansould suffice

The needle drags against e and his mouth flattens into a hard line "Guess I haven't found the right one yet"

I don't buy it And I’ me an answer just to shut me up, but it's not like I can call him a liar I don’t even know him

“It’s ink, bro Not a woman” The artist at the next chair—Pierce—says without soin our direction

“No fucking shit, bro,” Madden snaps back at hi or not His expression hasn’t changed since the moment I first laid eyes on him

I liftbehind the cash register

NO INFINITY SYMBOLS

NO TRAMP STAMPS

NO TRIBALS

NO CHINESE SYMBOLS