hooligans.”
Todd shook his head. “Doesn't matter. They're good for business. This year I got prime time real estate, too. I got a podium between 5 th and 7 th Street. Right by the bar and the gas station. We can get them coming and going. I'm going to be rich by the end of this.”
Miranda was watching a group of bikers, as they rode into town. Their pack was high and tight, not a single bike strayed. It was an impressive formation. On the back of their jackets a picture of a tomahawk was stitched into the leather. The words, The Braves, were stitched over the top.
“Hey! Are you listening to me?” Todd demanded.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yes, between 5 th and 7 th , rich, blah, blah. Where is this podium of yours anyway?”
“Already set up, no thanks to you. I have half a mind to fire you right here.” Todd remarked.
Miranda scoffed. “I'm the only help you've got.”
“That's the only reason I haven't,” he growled. “Now, get my needles disinfected and warm up the ink. I've got a local boy shaking a sign for me, so the business should be rolling in any minute now. Plus, we still have to get all of this stuff to 5 th Street.”
“Okay, okay,” Miranda said, as she nodded.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man staring at her. He was tall, dark, and covered in leather from head-to-toe. The goggles over his eyes and the bandana over his mouth concealed his face. The light on the street had turned green, yet he was still staring at her. Then, he seemed to awaken, as if from a dream, and drove off. On his back, she saw the same stitching that she had seen earlier. A stray Brave, Miranda thought. She knew that only the chiefs rode at the back, so they could watch the pack. I bet that strange man was the war chief of the Braves.
“Miranda!” Todd yelled. It was going to take all of her willpower not to kill him today...
***
It was a long day and Todd had been right. People were lined around the block, waiting for a shiny new tattoo to commemorate their visit to the rally at Black Hills. The sun was high and hot, making bodies sweaty. It was always more difficult to sketch on a sweaty body. Miranda had to dab, not wipe, the area repeatedly to prevent smudging and to make sure the sketch held. The work was hard, but gratifying. Miranda had a deep, carnal craving for tattooed skin. The black ink, the designs, the sculpted bodies they wrapped around, all of it made Miranda's insides quake with lust.
When Miranda finished her latest sketch, the man stood up and looked into the mirror. He examined the sketch, then frowned. “Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked.
“What?” Miranda was confused.
“Well, I'm having second thoughts about this tattoo,” he said. “What if she leaves me, I'll be stuck with her forever.” The tattoo was a portrait tattoo of a woman, and Miranda had done many of them. Underneath the portrait were the words, Love bound in blood .
Miranda smiled. “So what? Tattoos are mementos, memories of your life. Don't think about it as if you are stuck with it or branded by her. Even if she leaves you, she was a part of your life, a big one by the looks of it. Think of it as paying homage to that part of your life. Tattoos tell a story, like a tapestry. When you die, all someone has to do is look at your tattoos to know what kind of person you were.”
The man looked at the sketch once more.
“Trust me,” Miranda said. “You always want to get it inked in, makes it more meaningful.” She meant every word.
The man nodded. “You're right. Pretty, too. If I didn't already have her, it would be your portrait on my arm right now.”
Miranda laughed. “She's lucky to have you.”
“Hope she feels the same way,” the man said with a grin, as he made his way to Todd. He would ink in the sketch for the man, making it forever a part of him.
***
The
Todd shook his head. “Doesn't matter. They're good for business. This year I got prime time real estate, too. I got a podium between 5 th and 7 th Street. Right by the bar and the gas station. We can get them coming and going. I'm going to be rich by the end of this.”
Miranda was watching a group of bikers, as they rode into town. Their pack was high and tight, not a single bike strayed. It was an impressive formation. On the back of their jackets a picture of a tomahawk was stitched into the leather. The words, The Braves, were stitched over the top.
“Hey! Are you listening to me?” Todd demanded.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yes, between 5 th and 7 th , rich, blah, blah. Where is this podium of yours anyway?”
“Already set up, no thanks to you. I have half a mind to fire you right here.” Todd remarked.
Miranda scoffed. “I'm the only help you've got.”
“That's the only reason I haven't,” he growled. “Now, get my needles disinfected and warm up the ink. I've got a local boy shaking a sign for me, so the business should be rolling in any minute now. Plus, we still have to get all of this stuff to 5 th Street.”
“Okay, okay,” Miranda said, as she nodded.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man staring at her. He was tall, dark, and covered in leather from head-to-toe. The goggles over his eyes and the bandana over his mouth concealed his face. The light on the street had turned green, yet he was still staring at her. Then, he seemed to awaken, as if from a dream, and drove off. On his back, she saw the same stitching that she had seen earlier. A stray Brave, Miranda thought. She knew that only the chiefs rode at the back, so they could watch the pack. I bet that strange man was the war chief of the Braves.
“Miranda!” Todd yelled. It was going to take all of her willpower not to kill him today...
***
It was a long day and Todd had been right. People were lined around the block, waiting for a shiny new tattoo to commemorate their visit to the rally at Black Hills. The sun was high and hot, making bodies sweaty. It was always more difficult to sketch on a sweaty body. Miranda had to dab, not wipe, the area repeatedly to prevent smudging and to make sure the sketch held. The work was hard, but gratifying. Miranda had a deep, carnal craving for tattooed skin. The black ink, the designs, the sculpted bodies they wrapped around, all of it made Miranda's insides quake with lust.
When Miranda finished her latest sketch, the man stood up and looked into the mirror. He examined the sketch, then frowned. “Do you think this is a good idea?” he asked.
“What?” Miranda was confused.
“Well, I'm having second thoughts about this tattoo,” he said. “What if she leaves me, I'll be stuck with her forever.” The tattoo was a portrait tattoo of a woman, and Miranda had done many of them. Underneath the portrait were the words, Love bound in blood .
Miranda smiled. “So what? Tattoos are mementos, memories of your life. Don't think about it as if you are stuck with it or branded by her. Even if she leaves you, she was a part of your life, a big one by the looks of it. Think of it as paying homage to that part of your life. Tattoos tell a story, like a tapestry. When you die, all someone has to do is look at your tattoos to know what kind of person you were.”
The man looked at the sketch once more.
“Trust me,” Miranda said. “You always want to get it inked in, makes it more meaningful.” She meant every word.
The man nodded. “You're right. Pretty, too. If I didn't already have her, it would be your portrait on my arm right now.”
Miranda laughed. “She's lucky to have you.”
“Hope she feels the same way,” the man said with a grin, as he made his way to Todd. He would ink in the sketch for the man, making it forever a part of him.
***
The
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