Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a rabbit in a top hat, monocle chain, red tie and tan jacket, smoking a pipe, on a limb.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Anthropomorphic rabbit in top hat smoking a pipe

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A rabbit wearing a top hat, tie and tan jacket holds a monocle on a chain while smoking a large pipe, with wisps of grey smoke curling across the design. The rabbit is rendered with fine engraved-style hatching and bold dark outlines, and the eye is a bright yellow. Rich browns, red, tan and grey dominate the composition, which is centred on the figure with a dark shadow behind it.

Neo-trad Traditional Forearm Rabbit Top hat Pipe Smoke Monocle Tie Jacket

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gentleman came up the Harrow Pass on the last carrier before the snow shut it, and he knocked the drifts from his top hat three times on our doorstep as though the snow had been rude to him. My mother said he was a magistrate's clerk. My father said he was a debt collector. He only asked for a room facing the road, a pot of strong tea and the loan of a lamp, and he paid for all three in silver that had been bitten at the edges.

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Each evening he sat by the window with his monocle hanging on its fine chain and a long pipe going, and the smoke curled up the glass and out over the pass like a second road. I was twelve and took his supper up. He asked me the names of the peaks, and when I said them he corrected two, then apologised for correcting me. On the third night he told me the pass had once been a drovers' track, and that every traveller who crossed it left a little of his own weather behind.

The storm came on the fourth night. The road was gone by morning, and the gentleman was gone with it, though his room was warm and his tea still steamed on the sill. Father swore he had seen no one go out. The pipe lay on the ledge, still lit, its smoke leaning east towards the high col where nobody lives.

Every October since, the snow comes early over Harrow, and every October a single grey thread rises from that empty window, straight up, as if someone were waiting for the weather to clear before setting off again.